


CoSL 10: Change and Rearrange

by Dracophile



Series: Grimm-The Casebook of Sloane Larson [10]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Remix, Existential Crisis, I point out things that didn't make sense, Mentions of Rape, Nick being a good friend, Sloane becoming a better person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracophile/pseuds/Dracophile
Summary: PART 10 of the Casebook of Sloane Larson! Goes over Red Menace, The Eyes of the Beholder, and The Good SoldierWhile still trying to wrap her head around what she's found out about her grandmother and her feelings towards wesen, Sloane is trying to figure out what kind of Grimm she really wants to be. Having to do this while dealing with radioactive healers, wesen street gangs, and someone picking off soldiers doesn't make things any easier. Or will it make it obvious why she needs this?





	CoSL 10: Change and Rearrange

_The Red Menace_

\----

After returning from Wildred, Sloane had the weekend to get her collection organized in the spare bedroom. Her books were camouflaged and put away in locked bins hidden in the box spring of the daybed. Easy access for her, not so much for others. Weapons were hung up in the closet, not so easily camouflaged but she didn’t foresee anyone going into there without her being there. The hard drive with the scanned books was encrypted and hidden in a safe location as well. The only things she really had out in the open still were a few mementos she allowed herself to take: an old model airplane that according to her grandmother was the same model as the one her grandfather flew in the war, a ceramic cow creamer she always remembered being on their kitchen table (the nick in its ear still there from an unfortunate play date when she was six with a stray cat she brought home), and a few photographs of her grandmother and Mim and Jean and Wildred. And of course her grandmother’s personal journals. Those she had in her bedroom, and she’d read them at night before bed. They were a distraction she normally would be ashamed of, but it was like getting to know her grandmother for real. Not the person she thought she was from her childhood memories, or built up from her ideals as a Grimm, but a real flesh and blood person who lived for almost fifty years before Sloane was even born.

But she should stop reading them late into the night she realized Monday morning, yawning as she sat at her desk in the precinct.

“You okay?” Nick asked.

“Mmm…still reading up on my grandmother…”

“Ah, and how’s that going?”

“Interesting…weird…I don’t know,” she sighed.

“Well, if you need to talk let me know. Actually…I could, uh, use a bit of advice myself…”

“Oh?”

“It’s about Juliette—”

“I don’t think I’m the best to ask for romantic advice, Nick,” Sloane said quickly and honestly.

“No, it’s not romantic. Just, uh…a friend of hers is staying with us. Her name is Alicia and she’s hiding with us from her abusive husband.”

Sloane frowned. “Kill him.”

“What-no,” he said with his own frown. “I mean not that it’s not tempting on some level, but that’s not my issue here exactly. Also, I thought you were y’know…trying to do better with that.”

“Right, but that would be my answer, wesen or not.”

Nick couldn’t argue with that feeling but shrugged. “Well, that’s part of the question I guess…I saw Alicia woge. She’s a fuchsbau.”

Sloane was surprised by that, but not as hostile as she might’ve been once. “Oh…well, that’s…awkward. I take it this is news to you and Juliette?”

Nick sighed, though part of him was happy how easily she took that without suggesting violence again. “Yes, but Juliette doesn’t know. I haven’t told her…”

“Okay…and you want to know if you should?” she guessed.

“Yeah. I mean, Hank found out one of his oldest friends was a coyotle accidently and after a little…adjustment period he’s okay with it now. That’s how I had to tell him wesen were real.”

“Yeah, he told me. He thought he was going crazy before that.”

Nick flinched guiltily. “Y-yeah…I just…I never know how much to reveal or when, you know?”

She nodded a little. “That can be tough, but I generally say tell them when they’ve seen enough they’re questioning their sanity and can’t attribute it to trauma…”

Nick wasn’t so sure but nodded. “Well, there’s no chance of that here really because she already knows. So do I tell her?”

Sloane took a breath and looked up at the ceiling as she thought. “Like you said, Juliette is already Kehrseite. Not like you’re dropping the initial wesen bomb on her. I think the bigger worry is what your friend might do if she finds out you’re a Grimm.”

Nick nodded with a solemn look on his face. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about too more than anything. I don’t want to scare her into going back to Joe.”

“There’s the question of what he might be too,” she pointed out. “More than likely he’s already looking for her. No telling what he might do, or what he might be.” She was quiet a moment before sighing. “I’d tell Juliette and try to keep it quiet otherwise. Better she know what might be about to strike than go in blind, but her friend doesn’t necessarily need to know she knows.”

“Yeah…” He sighed and drank his coffee while Sloane looked at the clock.

“Is Hank coming in this morning?”

“I think he’s at physical therapy for his tendon. With that cute physical trainer he went on about before. Zuri I think her name is, if only because he’s said it a dozen times.” Nick smiled a little. “You think he’ll ask her out?”

“I hope he does, if just so he’ll stop talking about her so much.”

“You don’t know Hank, he’ll talk about her more if they start dating,” Nick chuckled. They paused and looked up when other officers were clapping. “Renard’s back…” They watched as their Captain headed for his office through the small throng of people. Captain Harden had informed them he’d be back yesterday by emailing Rosalee—something Sloane wasn’t keen on still but Rosalee seemed fine with it— and would be returning to work today. As he passed he glanced at them and gave a slightly nod before going in. Sloane and Nick looked at one another before standing and heading to the office. “You were gone a while,” Nick said, closing the door behind them.

“There was a lot to do,” Renard sighed.

“How did your trip go?” Sloane asked.

Renard set his briefcase down and sighed. “Well, the Verrat paid a personal call.”

“They found out you were there,” Nick surmised.

“Let's just say there was an indiscretion, but we handled it,” he said evasively.

“I'm guessing you didn't make any arrests,” Nick said with a bit of accusation in his voice.

Renard gave him a flat look but it was Sloane that eyed Nick a little dourly. “Did you arrest any Verrat when they came?”

Nick flushed but then sighed. “Okay, point taken…”

Renard smirked a bit but then but tried to make it a bit gentler. “There's a great deal at stake here, Nick. Allegiances are shifting. My brother's death has caused a great deal of turmoil.”

Nick nodded a bit. “Too bad I didn't get a chance to meet your brother.”

“Or me,” Sloane added.

“I would've liked to see that,” Renard said with slight but honest smile.

“They find out you were involved?” Nick said, getting back on track.

“They're not certain of anything…except that you and I pose a great threat.”

“What about me?” Sloane asked.

“I’ve managed to keep you mostly under the radar I think. You may end up being our secret weapon someday. With your resume, I’m sure they’d think you were the biggest threat out of all of us.”

Sloane’s brow twitched, not sure how she felt about that. They were interrupted by a knock at the door and looked up when Hank poked his head in. “Welcome back, Captain. Sorry to interrupt, but somebody got themselves killed. Anybody interested?”

Their victim ended up being a waiter in his twenties at a well-to-do Russian restaurant. Ivan Markov was found in the freezer, apparently strangled and then stripped down to his underwear. They could only surmise that he was killed for his uniform. They also found obvious signs of a struggle including blood and a broken window in the storeroom to the side of the restaurant. The owner, Dmitri Sokolov, was very cooperative if a little busy as he explained he thought Markov had gotten sick and left but they were too busy with a private party to check on him. The party was held by his friend, Mila Guryanova, and he gave them her contact information without hesitation. They also reviewed his surveillance videos. It was easy to see one person was rather keen not to be seen as he used whatever was at his disposal to hide his face.

“He knows there's cameras,” Hank pointed out, watching the man on camera carry a large box on his shoulders rather than use a dolly. They were back at the station, Renard watching over their shoulders. “That's why he's carrying the box.”

Sloane nodded, having used similar techniques herself in the past. “He probably cased the restaurant in advance two weeks or more ago. Enough time the tapes would be gone and no one would remember his face.”

“And this is him ten minutes later,” Nick said, switching to a camera to show him entering a door.

“Is that the storeroom?” Renard asked.

“Yeah. He goes in, never comes back out,” Nick nodded.

“So he kills the waiter, steals the uniform. What's the motive?”

“This guy. Boris Myshkin, guest of honor,” he said, focusing in on a man at the dinner table. It was a lively party apparently, with dancers and lots of drinking, but it was obvious who the center of attention. He was older, in his fifties, and tall, thin, with close cropped hair and a beard around his high cheek bones.

“The killer must have needed the uniform as a disguise,” Hank said.

“Myshkin? I've heard of him. He's some sort of Russian healer,” Renard said.

“Sounds like a scam artist to me,” Hank said.

Sloane side-eyed him a little. “Not that I disagree, but keep in mind you haven’t even seen half of what the world has to offer still. And we had a zombie epidemic not too long ago. And you dated a witch.”

Hank smiled wanly. “Points taken…but at least life isn’t boring.”

Nick rolled his eyes but focused in on a woman at the table with her hair up in a bun, exuberantly cheering for Myshkin. “According to the restaurant owner, Myshkin is staying with this woman, Mila Guryanova.” He pointed to another woman next to her who looked rather irritated as she sipped her drink. “And this is his wife Olga.”

“How does Olga feel about them?” Renard asked, pointing to the much younger girls next to Myshkin whom he was being very friendly with.

“What, his groupies?” Hank asked.

“Doubt she calls 'em that,” Nick pointed out. They watched as Myshkin rose and left the area, heading for the back of the restaurant as if in pain. Sloane frowned as she watched, wondering for a moment if he was poisoned. Then a man suddenly tackled Myshkin and forced him into the storage room. Doing that on top of poison seemed rather overkill. Nick paused the video, but there was still no clear picture of the mystery hit-man’s face.

“Mm. Any idea who the assailant is?” Renard asked.

“Not yet, lab's still trying to clean up the image,” Nick shook his head.

“And no one reported the assault?”

“No reports found,” Sloane said.

“We believe Myshkin threw his attacker out the window,” Hank added.

“And he went back to the party like nothing happened,” Nick said, looking at the tape of Myshkin exiting the storeroom and heading back to his table as nonchalantly as possible.

“So the guy who attacked him could still be on the loose,” Hank said.

“If someone tried to kill Myshkin, there's no reason to think he won't try it again.”

“Barring he’s dead.” They looked at Sloane and she shrugged. “Guy walks out like nothing happened when there’s blood and a broken window two stories up in that storeroom? He likely tried to give a killing blow. Russians can be pretty hard core.”

“We need to talk to Myshkin,” Renard said, thinking things out. “We're dealing with Russian citizens. If the state department decides to get involved, I'd like to stay in front of this one. I'm coming with you.”

They didn’t object of course and headed to an upper class neighborhood with a lot of big houses far apart on well-manicured plots of land. Everything still looked fairly green despite the winter chill and it didn’t seem like there was any danger in the daylight hours. As they stepped out, Renard reminded them that Russian healers were revered where they come from. Nick and Hank found it funny, but Sloane just kept quiet as they headed up to the mansion. A very pretty maid met them at the door and let them inside when they showed their badges and asked for Myshkin. She went down a hall while they waited in the opulent foyer. The hall was lined with people, some in wheelchairs, some sitting but looking ravaged by some invisible illness, their loved ones looking scared but hopeful around them. A woman walked brusquely for them from the hallway after the maid apparently informed her of them. They recognized her from the videos.

“I am Mila Guryanova. This is my home. The Myshkins are my guests,” she said, obviously intending to shoo them away. Another woman they recognized as Olga Myshkin came up behind her.

“What do you want with my husband?” she asked.

“We need to ask him a few questions concerning a police investigation,” Renard said.

“Now is not a good time. He's doing a healing,” she said.

“This shouldn't take too long,” Nick said.

“We can always wait around. I mean, our car is right outside, I’m sure in this neighborhood it’s more than safe to have a police car outside for a while, right?” Sloane said with a smile. “No one’s going to find that odd or start rumors.”

Olga huffed and Mila looked put out but they nodded. “This way.”

They headed to the side room to see Myshkin standing, examining a boy with a bandage wound around his head from his crown to his jaw. An older man, probably his father, was telling the healer how his son’s wound wouldn’t heal. The police officers moved in quietly, not outright interrupting, to watch what would happen. Sloane straightened when she saw Myshkin’s hand suddenly turn almost transparent, his metacarpal bones nearly visible through his skin, while his veins seemed to glow green. Nick had noticed too, glancing to her questioningly. She nodded, but then gave a slight shrug. She didn’t know what wesen could do that.

“You see something?” Renard asked them.

“His hand,” Nick stated quietly.

“And his eyes,” Sloane said, noting they also glowed slightly green. Before they could say more, Myshkin suddenly tilted back and nearly collapsed. His wife and the father worriedly helped him to a chair and he sat heavily, looking exhausted. The boy was looking surprised but hopeful as he undid the bandages around his head. A large gash was in his cheek, but it was closed now, not looking like it could’ve bled like it had against the gauze pad that had been resting against it.

“It’s healed…” his father breathed, going over to look at it. “You healed my boy! Spasiba! My boy is healed!” Mila began ushering them out, the father thanking Myshkin over and over.

Rendard stepped over while Olga walked back over from closing the door. “Sorry for the interruption. I'm Captain Renard. This is Detective Burkhardt, Detective Griffin, and Detective Larson.”

“What do you want?” He asked, sounding more confused than anything.

“You had a party at a restaurant last night. A waiter was murdered there,” Nick said.

Olga gave a rather unconvincing Russian curse in surprise while she set her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“Olga,” Myshkin sighed, knowing it was an act.

“According to restaurant surveillance, the man who killed the waiter also tried to kill you,” Renard said.

Olga said something else in Russian, getting an impatient retort from her husband before Renard responded in perfect Russian back to both of them.

Sloane, Nick and Hank all looked at one another before back at him. “Why am I not surprised?” Hank muttered.

“You told your wife you'd tell the truth,” Renard said to Myshkin.

“I have nothing to hide,” Myshkin sighed, standing with a second wind. “A man attacked me. I fought back.”

“Did you ever seen this man before?” Sloane asked.

“No. But he too spoke Russian. He's saying...” He gave a phrase in Russian that they weren’t even sure how to pronounce.

“What's that mean?” Hank asked, looking at Renard.

“Doesn't really translate,” Renard said delicately. “But if you're gonna kill somebody you hate, it certainly fits the occasion.”

“Any reason why this man hates you enough to kill you?” Nick asked.

“Ah, many. Many reasons.” He untucked his shirt from his pants, lifting it up to show several scars of his own across his chest and stomach. “Sometimes... sometimes I try to heal someone, and I fail,” he said, sounding more guilty than upset that people blamed him. “Some say I do the devil's work. Some men are jealous because their foolish wives fall in love with me, but that, I can't help.” Sloane arched her eyebrows and glanced to Olga who looked away with a bit of annoyance.

“What happened to the man who attacked you?” Nick asked.

“I threw him out the window,” he said blithely as he opened a candy dish and took a chocolate. “He ran away.”

“You should've reported it,” Nick scolded.

“If I'd known he already murdered someone, I would've,” he said, popping the chocolate in his mouth.

“It's possible he may try again, so I'm gonna leave a patrol unit parked just outside in case,” Renard said, taking out his card and handing it to him. “If you see anything suspicious, please give us a call immediately.” He gave a parting word in Russian and then headed out with them again. He conversed with the maid in Russian as well, obviously charming her a little. He told her he’d spent two years in Moscow when he was younger and Sloane believed it.

Once they were outside Hank, asked them “What'd you see?”

“The skin on Myshkin's hand became transparent when he was healing that kid. I could see his bones,” Nick said, flexing his hand at the thought.

“Same,” Sloane said. “It was a greenish glow. I take it neither of you did?”

“No, no, but what you're describing is a Koschie,” Renard said, nodding to himself as they walked and then pausing when they were far enough from the house.

“It sounds familiar…but I don’t speak Russian, so I might have glossed over it in a book,” Sloane sighed. “The information doesn’t do me much good untranslated.”

“I only know a little. I remember meeting one once with my mother in Moscow. He was a healer just like Myshkin. He wore these long monk's robes, he didn't drink, and according to my mother, he was celibate, which is why he came to her. Evidently, the healing fired up his sex drive, and he needed a potion to put the brakes on.”

Hank snorted. “Myshkin's libido could use some of that. Man likes to party.”

“Oh, he doesn't seem to be suffering too much guilt about his marriage,” Nick pointed out as they started walking back to the car.

“Or maybe he's suffering too much. He is Russian after all,” Renard pointed out. “I'll call a few friends in Moscow, see what I can find out.”

\----------------

Nick called Sloane from the trailer later that day where he’d gone with Hank and Monroe to look through Marie’s books. Sloane was looking through her own and cursing again that she didn’t know Russian. Luckily they had found one passage in English though and Nick and quickly called her to put her on speaker.

“Wait, Rasputin?” Sloane said. “As in…Rasputin?”

“Well, he is Russia’s greatest love machine,” Monroe said, laughing a little.

“…What?” Sloane asked, confused and annoyed.

“It’s a…song, internet meme-you know, forget it. But yeah, Rasputin. Look here’s the journal entry: "Because of their healing powers, they are extremely difficult to kill, but one must be especially careful. A Koschie's touch can not only heal but also be fatal.””

“How do you know which one you're going to get?” Hank asked.

“I’m figuring that’s up to the Koschie,” Sloane said.

“There's more about Rasputin here,” Monroe went on. “"When the poison proved ineffective, I instructed Yusopov to just shoot the bastard. Unfortunately, he fired only one shot. I quickly shot him three more times with my webley. Still, this wasn't enough to kill him. We had to beat him senseless and dump him in the icy waters of the Neva river. Ironically, British intelligence had no idea they had sanctioned a Grimm to kill a wesen."”

“Happened a lot more in the second world war,” Sloane muttered. She heard a beep.

“Getting another call, Sloane, I’ll let you know if we find more.”

“Right. I haven’t found anything here.”

“Keep looking, just to be sure.”

Nick dropped her call and Sloane sighed. It was less than a minute later that he called her back. “Speed reading?”

“No, we have a body. Sounds pretty gruesome.”

“I’ll hold off on dinner for a while then.”

“I’ve seen you eat over case photos before.”

“Not saying I couldn’t,” she snorted. “Just that I won’t.”

It ended up it was good she didn’t. Blood, mutilated bodies, the palor of death-she could handle all that. The corpse in the bathtub at the local motel though was something else entirely. He was a mass of boils and blisters, his face swollen and disfigured, his eyes almost bulging out of his skull. It was as though he’d been touched by the horseman of plague. It actually turned her stomach a little. She backed out of the small bathroom first, looking around the room. “He’s been here in Oregon for a while. He switched motels a couple of times though. I’ve got brochures from two other places in his bag.”

Nick, Hank and Wu came out to search as well. “Room's registered to an Alex Renko,” Wu said. “Manager said he paid in cash, but he had a Moscow driver's license.”

“Another Russian,” Nick said.

“Got something here,” Hank announced, kneeling down to look at a pile of clothes in the room’s closet. He frowned as he used his pen to move some things. “Markov's uniform from the restaurant,” he said in disbelief.

“So the dead guy in the tub killed the waiter and attacked Myshkin,” Nick concluded.

“So we have our suspect but he’s dead in…a very gross and painful looking process,” Sloane said. “And…he somehow got this way in less than 48 hours.”

“Got a cell phone over here,” Nick said, picking it up. “Looks like a burner.” He pressed a few buttons, going through the call list. “All the calls are to the same number. Could be an accomplice. Let's see who he was talking to.” He pressed speaker and they all heard the same voice.

“The number you have reached is no longer in service…”

Nick sighed and cut off the robotic voice. “I guess the accomplice isn’t stupid.”

Sloane looked up when she heard a sound from the bathroom and cursed loudly when she saw one of the scariest sights she’d seen since in her life. Renko, still naked and covered in boils, lurched out of the bathroom towards Hank, being the closest to the bathroom door. A stream of black juice spewed from his mouth as he collapsed into Hank’s arms.

“Oh my God!” Hank yelled, quickly but as gently as he could putting him to the floor. He jumped back when he was done, shaking and grunting in disgust.

Just then another officer rushed in. “Hazmat's here. They said don't... Touch the... oh.” He looked down to see Renko on the ground, Hank covered in the ooze.

Several yellow Hazmat suit wearing technicians quickly followed in, Geiger counters clicking. “Sorry, Detectives, but you have to be decontaminated. You'll surrender your clothes and undergo exfoliation.”

“Exfoliation?” they all asked.

“That means you'll have to shower. You'll also need to take potassium iodide. Anyone allergic?” Hank gave a groan of disgust and frustration as he stepped around Renko and led them all out.

They all had to go to a quickly constructed portable shower area. Sloane was first since she was the only girl, undressing in the tent with two female technicians present. She made them understand that the knife at her side would need to be returned as it was special to her and they promised it would decontaminated and returned. The rest of her clothes would not be so lucky. She headed to a special partitioned area to shower using the hoses and soap provided. She heard the men all do the same on the other side of the partition. “Have I told you all how happy I am to be a homicide detective lately?” she called over sarcastically.

“Hey, at least you didn’t have the Toxic Avenger falling all over you,” Hank called. “I’d rather deal with zombie’s once in a twelve month period if at all thanks.”

“I've had to take a few cold showers before, but nothing like this. No peeking, Sloane,” Nick joked.

“Don’t flatter yourselves,” she snorted.

“Can't believe soap and water's gonna be enough,” Hank said.

“Scrub hard,” Wu advised.

“How long you think it takes before you show signs of radiation sickness?” he asked worriedly.

“That depends on the level of exposure,” Nick said.

“We were in there less than ten minutes,” Sloane pointed out.

“Killer must have got a pretty high dose... I hope,” Wu said.

“Well, he didn't look sick on the restaurant surveillance,” Nick said.

“Not before he walked into the storeroom anyway,” Hank pointed out.

“That must have been where he got exposed.”

“And by exposed you mean...” Wu asked.

“To Myshkin.”

“He must’ve done something,” Sloane agreed, standing under the spray to rinse.

“We better tell them to check out the restaurant storeroom.”

“I’m done, I’ll let them know,” Sloane said, turning off the water. “Call me Lady Godiva boys, because if you look I at me it will be the last thing you see.”

The boys all smiled and respectfully kept their backs to her even with the opaque curtain up as she walked to go redress and ask them to check the restaurant’s storeroom. She was given some underwear, an undershirt and a blue jumpsuit since their clothes would have to be incinerated. Her knife was returned to her, though the scabbard was gone. She went to put it in her car and get a new one later. When she came back, the boys were done and dressing as well. They received word from the Hazmat team that the storeroom was indeed hot with radioactivity as well. Which meant they had to immediately report to Renard at the station, in there blue jumpsuits and paper boots to the amusement of their colleagues. On the way they got news about Renko for the hospital. He was in isolation, dying from radiation poisoning. More surprising was what Renard found out.

“That fits with what I got. Turns out Myshkin was a paid assassin for the FSB.”

“An assassin?” Sloane asked in surprise. “The guy healing people’s injuries and illnesses?”

“His sins have come back to haunt him I guess,” Hank sighed.

Sloane frowned, a bit of discomfort as she thought about that phrasing. They immediately had Myshkin pulled in for questioning, though thankfully they could return home and change first. When he was in the room, all four of them took places around the table. Nick and Sloane in corners near the mirror, Renard in front, and Hank in back.

“You know a man named Alex Renko?” Nick asked.

“Should I?”

“You poisoned him with radiation two days ago,” Hank stated.

“And you used to work for the FSB,” Renard said. He looked down, what might be shame on his face. “We know you're a Koschie.”

“We saw you heal that boy,” Nick said.

“You saw it?” he asked curiously at Nick. Nick stared him back and Myshkin took a breath. He woged, his face growing taught and transparent, dark circles around his eyes and his lips parched like a corpse. Glowing green eyes looked to him, then Hank, then Renard, and finally to Sloane. He looked like he was in pain. “Two Grimms…” he murmured. He then coughed and woged  back. “Now I know what you two are. How about the rest of you?”

Hank gave a tight smile and shook his head when Myshkin looked at him. “No.”

Renard sighed when Myshkin turned to him. “It's a long story.”

“We’re talking about you,” Sloane said. “Why did Renko want to kill you?”

“I promise you I don't know,” he said. “I'm sorry for what I did to that man. He attacked me. I had no choice. And yes, I was assassin for the FSB. But I wanted to find peace and do penance for the pain I caused, so I swore an oath to God to only do good, heal the sick.”

Sloane felt that twitch of something in her again when she listened to him. _Redemption…? Not sure you can redeem yourself after killing a bunch of people_.

“My concern is not your redemption,” Renard said. “My concern is that Renko has an accomplice who may still be after you.”

“Ah. I'm already a dead man, mister,” he said, smiling without humor. “Every time I heal, I die a little more. If someone tries to kill me, I'm not gonna fight it again. Why should I? Soon I will be in hell.” He seemed to look at Sloane mainly when he said that and she frowned more.

“Why’d you fight this time? Kind of hypocritical.”

He sighed, rubbing over his brow. “I was surprised. It’s been a while since someone tried to kill me, I suppose I foolishly thought I was safe here. And even knowing you’re at his door, one fears death. When the fight started…instincts took over.” He looked down at his hands. “I have asked myself why I fought back, why I did that, as well. Years spent healing to atone, wasted in a moment of fear of that which I sent so many to. I guess I cannot escape what I truly am, no matter how many I heal. But then, at least I can still heal for a time now to escape that. I will save more lives than I have taken. Can you turn off your nature I wonder? Is it hard not to try and kill me yourself?”

Sloane tightened her hands slightly and Nick looked at her with a worried frown.

Renard sighed. “Well, I suggest that you leave the country immediately. It’ll be safer.”

He nodded. “My wife misses her home. She would be happy to return,” he said thoughtfully.

“You're free to go.”

“Ah, I can go,” he said, standing and straightening his jacket. “Free... Ha. I'm not.”

He left just as Hank received a phone call that Renko was awake. This would probably be their last chance to ask him anything, so they quickly headed to the hospital. Sloane stared out the window as they did, deep in thought. Myshkin was once a killer, who’s conscience caught up with him and now he was desperately trying to atone by healing people. But the past wouldn’t let go of him, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t erase the bad doing good, couldn’t escape someone’s vengeance. What was the point then? Why did he try so hard to atone when he could never escape?

“Because sometimes you gotta live to try better tomorrow.”

Sloane blinked and looked at Nick. She hadn’t realized she’d been mumbling to herself in the back while Nick and Hank were up front driving. “Better?”

“Yeah. I think…there will always be something we regret, it’s just how life is. Mistakes, missed chances, stuff like that. Maybe it’s not the best way to realize he could do something better with his life, but he still realized it. He’s still made a lot of people better.”

“At the expense of himself. And not so much he won’t kill an attacker,” she pointed out.

“Like he said, death is still scary. Better he tried to do something better with his life than just lay down and die…though admittedly, killing people is counterproductive…but even he’s allowed to defend himself,” Nick admitted.

Sloane looked back out the window, thinking on the words. “…He’s just fooling himself,” she said finally. “People don’t change. And whatever he’s done recently doesn’t erase what he’s done in the past.” She had a distinct feeling that talk wasn’t just about Myshkin, and maybe that was what she’d been feeling all along. Nick didn’t say any more.

They headed to the hospital and Renard spoke with Renko in Russian, keeping his voice low to match the dying man’s raspy voice. He relayed the info once he was done; that he tried to kill Myshkin to avenge his father and that Myshkin will now try to kill “her”. Figuring this mystery woman must be someone with him now, they rushed back down to the car and headed back to the mansion.

When they got there, Olga answered the door, looking annoyed. “What is the problem?” she snapped.

“Where's your husband?” Nick said.

“Upstairs in our bedroom. He's got that little whore with him.”

Before they could ask they heard shouting in Russian from upstairs. A door opened and Larissa, the maid, ran out. Myshkin’s voice followed her, sounding desperate. “I told you, I'm not that man anymore!” He lurched out, a pair of scissors in his chest, still reaching for her. “I've changed!”

“Stay back,” Larissa said, crying.

“Mysha, what happened?” Olga called.

“She stabbed me…” he gasped. Nick and Hank were already heading up the stairs and guided the maid down. Myshkin removed the scissors with a gasp, likely already healing. Sloane was looking at him until she saw Olga take hold of Larissa. “Let her go!”

“No!” Larissa screamed the lady woged into a Malin Fatal. It was easy for her to swipe one of her long, razor sharp tusks across Larissa’s throat.

“Olga!” Myshkin cried.

“Get down!” Nick ordered, pointing his gun at her. Sloane was already grabbing Larissa, trying to put pressure on the wound with Renard’s help.

Olga woged back and looked at Nick in surprise but also a challenge. “Grimm.”

“You heard the man. On the floor!” Hank ordered.

Sloane was pushing at the wound, blood collecting over her hands. Larissa looked up at her, tears in her eyes, and she swallowed as she remembered similar looks in the eyes of her own victims. “He killed us all…” Larissa gurgled.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Sloane said.

Renard was looking at her anxiously. “I don't think she's gonna make it. The bleeding won’t stop.”

“Don’t say that-” Sloane started, but was interrupted by Myshkin pushing his way down the stairs.

“Move. Move. I can help,” he panted.

“Stay back,” Nick said but Renard shook his head.

“I don't think we have another choice.”

Olga, handcuffed by Hank now and kneeling in front of him, frantically shook her head. “No! She tried to murder you!” He didn’t listen, practically crawling over to Larissa and setting his hand at her throat. “Mysha, Mysha! Don't, don't! It will kill you. You are too weak…” His hand glowed and Sloane watched as the wound closed enough to stop the bleeding. Then the glow stopped and he gasped, grunting and rolling over. Olga continued to cry, crawling on her knees to him in a way they didn’t think the proud woman would ever do. “No! No! You fool!”

Myshkin looked up at her and smiled sadly. “Forgive me…”

Sloane looked at Larissa and then to him while Nick radioed for an ambulance. “Why…? After what she did…?”

He looked at her, his eyes already glazing over. “Because…She was right. And in the end it’s not about her forgiving me. It’s about being the man…I vowed to be…to prove to myself I’m not a monster, not to her. I drove her to this, but I had the power to save her…I still wish I was a better man…to my wife and to others…but…at least…I did…this much…”

“Mysha…” Olga sobbed again, murmuring something in Russian ash she knelt to press her head against his. He took a breath, murmured something back softly, and shuddered as he closed his eyes. Sloane thought he looked eerily peaceful in death and wondered if he finally found what he needed. An odd feeling came over her as she watched Olga cry over his body and she imagined if she were the one dead…would anyone be there to cry or try to comfort her?

\-----------------

Sloane honestly thought about taking another day off after what happened. Something about Boris Myshkin’s death continued to vex her and while she had an idea what it was, she didn’t really want to examine it that closely. Trying not to was somehow even more distracting though. It was distracting her at night as well to the point she was having trouble getting more than a couple of hours of sleep. She did her best to hide it from everyone else though.

She was trying to keep herself distracted with odd jobs around the house She was just organzing her reference cards—which still came in handy and she needed some new ones now— when her phone buzzed. _OR Library_ was up on the screen and she answered it. “Gallin?”

“Hello, Sloane. How are you?”

“Alright…”

“That doesn’t sound alright,” Gallin said, picking up on the tiredness of her voice.

“I’m fine, really. Just been a long week. What’s going on? I’m usually calling you,” she said, forcing herself to be more alert.

“Well…it’s regarding Mr. Burkhardt and his condition.”

“Did you find something?” she asked, hopeful.

“Maybe. But I need…well…”

“You need…more blood?” she guessed.

“No, not necessarily. I need, well…a video.”

“…Pardon?”

Gallin sighed. “I need video footage of how he is when he turns.”

“You want me to video tape this?” she asked, still not certain she heard that right. “That…you’re asking me to make him change on purpose and video it?”

“Look, I know it’s risky,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask it I didn’t have to, but my contact wants to see the symptoms physically.”

Sloane sighed, and rubbed over her temples. “Nick’s not going to like this…”

“I know, it sounds like something from _Jackass,_ making the guys that hulks out into a murder zombie do so on purpose, but I wouldn’t ask for it if I didn’t think it would help. This is the best lead I’ve found.”

Sloane sighed and then looked up at the ceiling. “Okay…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great, as soon as you can, please.”

Sloane frowned. “This is eager even for you…”

Galin sounded a bit flustered. “Uh, well…its interesting and has some potential if we can figure out why it’s doing what it’s doing, effecting him that way. For future reference and defense.”

“Alright…I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right, later. Thank you Sloane.” She hanged up quickly and Sloane looked at the phone in confusion. Gallin always was a little strange and awkward though so she shrugged and starting putting up the cards, trying to think how to convince Nick to transform.

\-----------------

_The Eyes of the Beholder_

\-----------------

A couple of days later they were called out to a case near a diner than reminded her of the Redline. A couple had been badly beaten in the parking lot, the man dying at the scene. The woman was rushed to the hospital but it didn’t look good. They’re only real lead was a young black male racing off in a silver Impala right after the incident. That ends up being good because they track the car to a Tyler Z. Ellis.

Bad news was that was Tyler Zuri Ellis, Hanks physical therapist that he had the crush on. He’d told them asking her out hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped, and even Sloane knew this was going to make things awkward. Even more so when her little brother Jared came down stairs and ran when he saw them, forcing Nick to give chase and take him in. Looking him up they didn’t find much of a record on either Zuri or Jared, but their father was doing 25 to life and their mother was dead. They only had each other. Even so, Sloane admired Hank’s determination to go in with them to question Jared.

“Jared, we're going to ask you about last night,” Hank said. Jared was slouching low in his seat, trying to look apathetic but looking more like he was trying to hide himself. He was twitching and looked in their direction when they spoke but never in their eyes. Sloane watched him from the other side of the mirror in the observation room, trying to pick out any body ques. Nick and Hank felt that would work better for now if he was trying to get himself initiated into a gang. He might not want to talk to a female officer. That was not the vibe Sloane was getting however. “All you got to do is tell the truth.”

“Why'd you run from us?” Nick asked from the corner with his arms folded. Jared didn’t say anything.

“Did you take your sister's car last night without her knowing?” Hank asked. Jared hesitated still but eventually nodded. “Where'd you go?”

“To see my girlfriend,” He said quietly.

“What's your girlfriend's name?” Nick asked.

“Joy.”

Hank sat up straighter in recognition. “Waitress at Ray's Diner?” Jared nodded again.

Nick sat down and pulled a photograph from the folder on the table and slid it over to him. It was of a larger Black man, but it wasn’t a crime scene photo. Just a mugshot. “You ever see this guy before?”

Jared took a gulp of air and tried to sound unaffected. “He was in Ray's.”

“You know him?”

Jared unconvincingly tried to compose himself again, putting on too much aloofness. “No.” Sloane was even more convinced he wasn’t a murderer or trying to get into a gang. _He’s softhearted…_

“What about in the parking lot? You see him there?” Nick pressed.

He shook his whole body and looked down and away, his words more forceful. “I didn't see anything.”

_He saw. He wishes he didn’t but he saw. He wants to lie to himself just as much as lie to us._

Hank frowned and picked up the photo, his voice hard. “Somebody beat this man to death. You didn't hear him scream? You didn't hear his girlfriend scream?”

“A customer saw you leave, Jared,” Nick went on. “You were there when it happened.”

“Who killed Alonzo, Jared? If it wasn't you, who was it?”

“I don't know, they were gone by the time I got there,” he bit out, breathing heavier.

“Oh,” Nick said, feigning surprise with a hand rubbing over his chin. Sloane frowned, disliking that he was being such an obvious little shit compared to the seventeen year old in the room. “So you did see something. Who's they? Was there more than one?”

“I didn't see anything,” he said again, more desperate. “I didn't see anything.”

Hank frowned more, but this time worried. “Who are you afraid of?”

Jared shook his head, breathing heavier, with an almost asthmatic wheeze to his words. “No, I'm not saying any more.” He sank back, his hands covering his face. Nick and Hank looked at one another before back at the mirror. Sloane tapped the glass twice, her signal that as far as she was concerned the interview was done. They rose and exited the office interrogation room, letting Jared stay and breathe alone. Sloane watched him for a moment and then went out, bought two bottles of water from the vending machine, and knocked on the interrogation room door. Jared looked up, a little calmer but no more talkative. “What?”

Sloane set the bottle down in front of him. “Thought you might be thirsty. We don’t need prints or DNA, not that kind of crime scene, so this is just a bottle of water.”

He looked at the bottle suspiciously still and then up at her. “You playing good cop then?”

She smirked a little and looked down. “Honestly that…is not my forte. I’m usually the “hard ass” compared to my partners. They thought you wouldn’t talk to a woman if you were in a gang.”

“I’m not!” he said defensively.

“I know. No offense but you are a lousy liar and a bit prone to panicking. Not gang material. Which is lucky for you because my partners and I are 100% sure you are not a murderer.”

He looked surprised, then hopeful. “Then can I go home?”

“In a bit, probably. I think your sister is already working on that. But I wanted to talk to you before you did.”

“I told you I didn’t see anything,” he snapped.

“We both know that’s bullshit but fine, you don’t have to tell me what you saw.” He looked confused again and Sloane shrugged. “I get it. These are dangerous people, you don’t want to cross them. More over…there’s somethings that are just not easy to talk about, especially when it’s fresh in your mind. Witnessing a violent murder is not an easy thing to just talk about. You probably keep thinking about it and it makes all this all the worse because of that.” He looked a little glassy eyed for a moment before nodding, sniffing a little. “As police we seek justice, even for murdered gang members, and we need information to do that so…I’m sorry if we seem kind of heartless or like we don’t care about what happens to you. It’s just that we pursue the truth and we want to keep people safe from people that do these kinds of crimes especially. And we’re also worried for you for that reason because you might not be safe even if you don’t tell us.”

Jared looked down, tracing patterns on the table. “…I…can’t…”

Sloane sighed but nodded. “Like I said, I’m not going to keep pressing.” She took out her wallet and grabbed her card, taking out a pen to scribble on the back. “This is my card and that is my cell. If you feel like someone is after you or you need help, call me, alright? If you just need to talk about anything, off the record, I’ll listen. I know more about witnessing violent deaths than your average person…even your average police officer.”

He looked at the card and slowly took it. “Off the record?”

She smirked. “I’m not a typical police officer on many grounds. Sure, I’d like to go kick some ass... but sometimes you have to do things for the greater good.” He nodded a little and she stood. “I think your sister is about to get you out of here. Take the water with you, best to stay hydrated when you’re stressed.”

“Thanks…”

Sloane headed out again and Nick practically ran into her. “There you are! The girl at the scene is out of ICU and can talk to us now. …What were you doing in there?”

“Just talking with Jared. Kid was scared to death in interrogation.”

Nick arched his eyebrows and then smiled. “Look at you, you old softy-”

“I can still dislocate your elbow before you have time to defend,” she pointed out.

“Right, to the hospital then.”

Sloane looked towards Renard’s office and saw that he was in. “...Just a bit, I need to talk to Renard about something.”

She stalked off towards the office, making sure Nick didn’t follow. She knocked and Renard looked up. “Larson. What can I do for you?”

Sloane closed the door and walked forward towards the desk. “…Do you still have that security footage of Nick at that biker bar?”

Renard frowned “…No, I destroyed it.”

Sloane gave him a flat look. “Bullshit.”

“Sloane-”

“You wouldn’t destroy something like that. You could use it to your advantage someday. You know that and you wouldn’t bring yourself to just destroy it.”

Renard paused and then sighed. “Why are you so good at reading people?”

“It’s a gift. Now hand it over.”

“I can’t, it’s not here. It’s somewhere safe. Why do you need it anyway?” he asked, curious.

Sloane hesitated, but then folded her arms and braced herself. “Nick is…still having after effects from the Cracher Mortal.”

“He’s what?” Renard said, frown deepening and on alert now. “Why did no one tell me about that?”

She huffed out a breath but stared him down. “It’s not something he’s broadcasted to everyone. It’s not common, but it comes up when he’s feeling threatened—”

“He’s a police officer and a Grimm, how is it not “common”?” Renard snapped.

“We’ve been trying to figure it out,” she pressed on. “He didn’t want to worry anyone. Juliette knows because he’s turned in his sleep before for some reason. No violent behavior, but he…he looked dead apparently.”

Renard sobered. “That is certainly worrying…”

She nodded. “But he did have a slight outburst with me when we were training. I know someone who’s asking around for more information. But they want a video of Nick while he’s like he was, to help diagnose him.”

Renard breathed, looking thoughtful, but then shook his head. “I can’t give you that footage.”

Sloane glared. “Look, it wasn’t that we were trying to keep it from you, he didn’t want everyone knowing—”

“It’s not just that,” Renard said. “I get it. I would probably have done the same in his shoes. But I took a big risk to take that footage away from investigators and protect Nick. Right now there is one copy and I have it, and that’s safest for both him and me. Putting another copy out there or giving the only copy away potentially opens a huge can of worms if it gets into the wrong hands that could land Nick on trial for murder, and the rest of us as accessories. Can you guarantee that won’t happen?”

“…I know my contact wouldn’t do that.”

“...But?” he prompted.

She looked down. “…I don’t know who she’s contacting.”

“Then the answer is no.”

“But we need footage! It’s to help Nick!” she persisted. “I know you and him don’t always see eye to eye, but you don’t want him getting worse, right?”

Renard shook his head again. “It’ll help him now, but what about down the road? We could all be in a lot of trouble. No. If you want to do this, I suggest new footage. Considering the security footage has no audio, it might work even better to help diagnose him.”

“Great…” she muttered. “So now I have to get Nick to transform and get it on tape?”

“That’s what I’m saying, yes. Now, I believe you need to go out on your case. Also…get some rest. You look a little tired.”

Sloane sighed and headed back out of the office. Nick and Hank were waiting and could tell something was wrong from her expression. “You okay?” Hank asked.

“Not really. Renard didn’t give me the answer I wanted…”

“When does he ever?” Nick said. “What did you need though?”

“…Let’s talk later, we should get to the hospital.”

Nick frowned, knowing that was rarely a good sign when she changed the subject like that. But they headed down to their car to head out.

They got to the hospital, but Mercedes was not feeling talkative either. Unlike Jared, she was outright antagonistic to them—obviously she didn’t like cops. Nick pressed her even harder, describing graphically what they did to her boyfriend Alonzo. Sloane was only mildly surprised when she woged into a Yaguaraté. Not as surprised as Mercedes was to see two Grimms though. She screamed and even in her beaten state tried to scramble away in her hospital bed, nearly crying in panic. Sloane almost felt bad for her. She was more surprised when Nick threatened to come back for Grimm business if she didn’t tell him who attacked them at the parking lot. It felt like something she would do.

Going to Monroe for information? Still not something she liked doing.

“So you're thinking if she's wesen, they're all wesen?” Monroe asked as he worked on filling phials of green powder according to weight at the Spice Shop. Rosalee was working grabbing herbs from a rooftop garden to dry and was out of the room at the moment.

“Could be,” Nick said. “Have you ever heard anything about wesen street gangs in Portland?”

“Can't say that I have. But gangs are really not my thing,” Monroe said more conversationally. “Groups, in general, tend to make me a little constipated. I mean, I get it, you know. I get the whole tribe mentality, us-against-them, safety-in-numbers thing. But hooking kids on drugs and violence at what? 10, 11 years old now? Zero tolerance, wesen or no wesen.”

Sloane was about to snap at him to get back on subject—even if she did agree in principle—when Rosalee walked in with a bushel of lavender, tying it with twine to hang to dry. “Wesen or no wesen what?”

“Gangs. Seems we might have a wesen turf war,” Sloane said.

“Have you ever heard of a gang called Northend Cru?” Nick added, not really expecting her to know either.

Rosalee paused a moment before taking a deep breath. “Yes, I have.”

Sloane and Nick blinked.

“One of them is some kind of wesen apparently,” Monroe said, a bit more prepared for that.

“Yaguaraté,” Sloane and Rosalee said at the same time. Sloane looked at Rosalee in confusion. Rosalee wasn’t looking at any of them. “Northend Cru are all Yaguaraté,” she said.

“And you know this because...?” Monroe asked.

“I used to buy drugs from them when I was going through my rough patch. That was years ago,” she stated. Sloane was again surprised. Rosalee had told her a bit of her jaded past, but it was still a shock sometimes to think the fuchsbau herbalist used to be a drugged out vagrant. Nick, Hank and Monroe were all surprised too, trying to be a bit more delicate.

“Do you remember any names?” Hank asked.

“You don't forget names like Smoky and Stink Eye, but real names, no. No, nobody ever used real names,” she said, her movements still calm as she measured out twine. Almost too calm. She was definitely trying to seem okay talking about this.

“What about 7th Street Savages?” Nick asked.

“They're a Seattle gang.”

“So hang on a second,” Monroe interrupted, glancing at them and then quieting his voice as he leaned into her. “When you were in Seattle, did you also buy from...”

“No,” she said more emphatically. “I just knew people who did.” Monroe breathed in relief and nodded. She looked back at them. “But Northend and 7th Street don't mix. It's why 7th street never comes to Portland.”

“Until now. Killing Alonzo was their way of letting Northend know they're here,” Hank soused out.

“That's quite a way to send a message... cutting off the head of the serpent,” Nick agreed.

“Or, in this case, the head of the Yaguaraté,” Monroe laughed. None of them were amused and he cleared his throat. “Serpent's good.”

“Also, you sent two reapers heads to their boss in a box,” Sloane reminded him.

“Yeah, well…That went with the message I was trying to send,” Nick defended.

“I’m sure the Savages feel the same…” Sloane said.

“Look, if they're moving into Portland, that means they're probably still here,” Nick went on. He nodded to Monroe and Rosalee as he motioned them to head for the door. “Thanks, guys.”

\----------------

Before they could plan their next move, it was decided for them. Zuri and Jared were nearly attacked at their apartment, Zuri luckily having been on the phone with Hank at the time and so police were there before they got the door kicked in. Renard met with them this time, a book of mugshots on his desk, and finally convinced Jared to point the men out so they could give them protective custody. Sloane and Hank went to help get them situated at a motel while Nick worked on coordinating with Seattle. When it was time for them to go, Hank paused in the parking lot. “You know, I…think I’m gonna trade posts with Wu and stay here tonight.”

Sloane arched her eyebrows. She was really tired and wanted to go get some sleep, or what sleep she could manage. “Okay…why?”

“Just…to make sure they’re alright.”

Sloane gave him a flat look. “Are you seriously using a safe house as an excuse to hit on her?”

“What? No, that’s not…I’m just…” he floundered, obviously embarrassed.

“You do know you drove us here, right? If I take the car, your kind of SOL for a while.”

“I…yeah, you’re right, sorry…” He looked down, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

Sloane looked at Hank’s hang-dog expression and sighed. “Nick’s probably not left the precinct yet. I’ll see if he can pick me up. You stay here.”

Hank tried not to light up. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just try to remember her brother is there and don’t make things too awkward, okay Casanova?”

“It’s purely professional,” he said, though his smile said something different. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone to call Nick.

“Hey, what’s up? They okay?”

“They’re fine, we got them set up at a motel. Hank wants to stay though.  Luckily he was just leaving and swinging by wasn’t too far out of his way. He frowned when she climbed in though. “Okay, I’ve been wanting to say this all day: No offense Sloane, but you look like you haven’t slept in days…”

“I honestly probably haven’t…I’m working through some stuff,” she sighed. “I’m fine though.”

“I kind of disagree,” he said, firmly but still worried. “What’s been keeping you up at night? Not your grandmother’s books, this seems different.”

“…Things. Stuff.” Nick rolled his eyes and she frowned at him. “Look, just take me to my car, I can drive home fine.”

“Nope. You are in no shape to drive.”

“I’m not that tired, Nick, honestly. I’ve been worse.”

“That does not make me feel better. You’re not driving.”

She glared more. “Fine, drop me off at my place.”

“Also no. You’re obviously distracted by something and I bet part of it is at your apartment.”

“Don’t deduce me, you ass!” she snapped.

“And you’re somehow more irritable than usual,” he said lightly. “You need sleep.”

“Don’t you already have a house guest?” she pointed out.

“My couch is still really big and comfortable. Trust me, I slept on it for a while when Juliette was having that memory curse. And most of all, I can drive you and you won’t be out on the road tired.”

Sloane was quiet a moment before sighing and sitting back. She didn’t want to admit that Nick promising to be there for her made her a little happy. Having someone to worry about her day in and day out—about things like food and feeling tired, not just bleeding out or breaking bones or dying—was nicer than she wanted to admit. Between him and Rosalee she was starting to feel a bit spoiled.  “Fine, okay, whatever…”

Nick smiled and drove towards his house instead of the precinct. “…I’m having a little trouble sleeping too.”

She looked over at him. “Is it the transformations?”

“Kind of…more me worrying about them. I did it again, in Wildred. Went blank and just…stabbed that guy in the fight. I’m not beating myself up about defending myself this time-”

“Good, I was going to smack you otherwise after last time,” she said dryly.

He rolled his eyes. “ _But_ I don’t like losing myself like that. I’m scared I’ll do something like that to someone innocent. Like I almost did with you. I’m scared I’ll wake up and I’ll have hurt Juliette…”

Sloane sighed softly. She wondered if she should bring up that Gallin contacted her but needed the video footage of him transformed. Good news, bad news? “We’ll figure this out…I promise.”

“Thanks…But you know, if…if I lose control at some point and you’re there-”

She smacked his shoulder. “No.”

He looked at her. “Sloane, I’m serious. I want you to make sure I don’t hurt anyone.”

Sloane huffed a sigh. “I won’t let you hurt anyone. But I’m not going to kill you, or harm you. We managed before, we’ll manage again.”

“I nearly hurt a lot of people before,” he reminded her. “I did kill someone.”

“Do not start,” she said more firmly, glaring at him. “I am not killing my friend.”

Nick blinked and glanced at her, then back to the road with a slight smile. “Your friend, huh?”

She gave a long suffering sigh. “Yes, I can’t deny it, you’ve wheedled your way into my heart. You jerk.”

Nick laughed and kept driving, deciding that was a good place to leave things for now. He got to his house and headed inside with her. It was a quick thing to get the couch set up with pillows and blankets, but it honestly wasn’t that bad. Sloane had to admit she was flagging pretty heavily and had been most of the late evening. She’d been eyeing the bed at the motel a little too much on retrospect, and she’d nearly punched Wu when he snuck up behind her. Luckily she’d been able to brush it off then, but she knew her lack of sleep was getting to her since she’d had long periods of restlessness before. It was easier before she had a day job.

“I’ll go grab the other blanket, just wait here,” Nick said, heading for the stair.

Sloane sighed and sat down on the couch. It was rather cushy, she had to admit. She took off her boots and put them to the side of the couch, then took off her knife holster and set it with her boots. Stretching, she laid back and sighed. She needed to talk to Nick about the video. But she still wasn’t sure how. It was such a sensitive subject. She just needed to come out and say it… _This couch is actually pretty comfy…_

“Okay, got the blanket,” Nick said, coming down with a comforter in his arms. “Do you need something to sleep in? I can see if Juliette can loan you…” He trailed off when he got closed to the couch and blinked in surprise to see Sloane was already fast asleep, curled up on her side with her arms around the pillow. He smiled a little. “Not tired, huh?” He came around the front and shook out the blanket, draping it over her. Sloane sighed and curled up a little more but remained asleep. “Night Sloane,” he said quietly, yawning and heading up to bed.

She was woken up in the morning by the smell of bacon and eggs being cooked and sighed as she sat up. Looking at her phone she knew she’d slept better than she had in days, even if it wasn’t a full eight hours. She was also more covered up than when she went to bed, with a comforter draped over her. She folded the blanket and stood, stretching with a groan. Padding into the kitchen, she rubbed her eyes a little to clear the sleep and saw Juliette cooking. “Um…hey?”

Juliette jumped and then sighed. “Sloane, hey…Nick left me a note saying you’d be sleeping downstairs. You okay?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…But yeah, Nick’s a worrywart, I was just a little tired last night and he didn’t want me driving,” she said, rubbing over her neck.

Juliette smiled. “Nick always worries for the people he cares about, it’s just his nature.”

Sloane wasn’t sure what to say to that, just nodding. “Um, so…”

“Yeah…so…” Juliette sighed a little and then smiled awkwardly. “We’ve never really talked just the two of us, huh?”

“Not really, no…And I’m not really good at small talk.”

Juliette smiled. “Well, as the other Grimm in Portland and therefore a big deal in Nick’s life, I’d like to get to know you.”

Sloane arched her eyebrows again. “Big deal in Nick’s life? I’m…not sure about that—”

“Not sure about what?”

They looked up to see Nick walking down the stairs and entering the kitchen.

“We’re just chatting, that’s all,” Juliette said, kissing his cheek when he came close. “What time did you two get in last night anyway, I only kind of remember you coming in?”

“Ugh, late…Didn't want to wake you all the way but Sloane had the couch.”

“If you’d like to recal, you insisted on that I sleep over,” she pointed out. He smiled and shrugged.

“I wish you had woken me up,” Juliette said, turning suddenly a little worried. “I, um... I told Alicia that I knew.”

Nick froze and Sloane took a moment to think of what that could mean. “That she was a wesen?” Nick asked.

“Yeah.” Juliette looked at Sloane. “See, my friend from college is here, trying to get away from her bastard abuser of a husband, and Nick said she’s—”

“He told me. He wanted to know if he should tell you and I told him it was probably best you knew.”

“Oh…well, um, thanks—”

“But I think he forgot I specified you shouldn’t let her know you know…” she added, looking at Nick. Nick grimaced but nodded a bit.

“Huh? Why?” she asked, getting upset.

“It’s nothing about you. Wesen don’t always like Keirsheite. Some tend to think secrecy above anything else is the only way they’ll survive. Others are just…panicky, and don’t do well with panic.”

“Well…I mean, she didn’t take it well, but not that bad. She just kind of…denied it. Even though I tried to tell her I’m alright with it.”

“Really?” Nick asked.

“Yeah. I even talked to Rosalee about it. She said what Sloane did pretty much…” she sighed.

“Did she say anything else?” Nick asked.

“She said to just be patient. Alicia's just not comfortable coming out yet.”

“Coming out?” Nick asked, frowning at the wording.

“Feels like a metaphor…” Sloane smirked.

“You two know what I mean,” Juliette sighed. “So I've just decided to just let things unfold naturally. Now. Rather than force it.”

Nick and Sloane shared a look and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Juliette smiled a little and then straightened up when they heard footsteps on the stairs. “Oh, here she comes.” She and Nick lined up and Sloane face palmed when they gave a couple of cheery morning greetings that sounded forced. Alicia, who was still sporting a bruise on one of her high cheek bones, smiled. “Morning. Um…we have company?”

Sloane waved. “I’m Sloane Larson. I work with Nick. He let me crash here last night because according to him, I was too tired to drive home.”

“You were. You fell asleep in like five minutes,” Nick pointed out.

“I can do cartwheels on two days without sleep,” Sloane said back defiantly. “But hi.”

“Well…it’s nice to meet you,” Alicia said, looking a bit skittish.

Sloane nodded and then looked at Nick. “Where’s the bathroom? I’m gonna go clean up a little and then you’re taking me to pick up my car Mr. Good Samaritan.”

Nick just smiled. “Breakfast first?”

“…Fine. But then my car. I’d like to actually take a shower and get some clean clothes before work,” she fixed him with a serious stare that she swore wasn’t meant to be playful and headed to the bathroom. She cleaned her face and borrowed Juliette’s brush for her hair, and a little deodorant so she didn’t smell quite so much like she’d slept in her clothes. All around her were signs of Nick and Juliette living together: two toothbrushes, the his and hers towels, the big bed and two bureaus. It was homier than any place she’d been, even her own she thought. Somehow it made her feel very much like an intruder rather than a guest. A strangely lonely.

A loud series of crashes had her jolting to attention and then scrambling back down the stairs. She got there just in time to see Juliette jump on a stranger’s back, fitting her arms around his neck and yelling at him. He bucked her off in the kitchen and Sloane scrambled in, ready to defend the red-head, only to see her use her frying pan to admirably strike him across the face. He turned back with a glare and then woged. _Klaustreich!_ Sloane didn’t have her knife on her, it was still by the couch. She could grab a kitchen knife-

“I’m not impressed,” Juliette growled without fear. She tried to strike him again but he deflected the frying pan. He was not prepared for her to kick him between the legs though, then jab him hard in the chest and face, and then grab the coffee pot—empty sadly—to smash over his head. He went  down and she continued her assault, Alicia coming in and smashing a vase over his head before helping her kick him. Sloane felt oddly useless just standing on the sidelines watching, but they had it covered.

“Hey!” Nick yelled, coming down the stairs with his gun drawn.

That got them to pause and back away, the klaustreich seeing Nick. Sloane was still to his side so he didn’t see her. He woged back, fear all over his face. “Oh god, a Grimm! D-don’t kill me!”

“I don’t think it’s us you have to worry about,” Nick said, going over to handcuff him.

“For real, we weren’t doing much,” Sloane said. “If they want to keep going, I will get rid of your body for them. Though, uh…who are you?”

“My husband,” Alicia panted.

“Ex-husband,” Juliette spat.

“I just wanted her to come back…” Joe sobbed as Nick cuffed him. “I didn’t mean to hurt her…”

“Yeah you did, you son of a bitch,” Juliette said, ready to start again.

Nick hauled Joe to his feet. They were about to leave when Alicia spoke up. “Wait.” She got in front of Joe and made him look at her. “We are done. I never want to see you again.”

“If she ever does see you again...” Nick trailed off.

“I can make it so she doesn’t,” Sloane said.

“No, no, I swear, she'll never see me again,” he sobbed.

“I’ll be right out with you,” Sloane said. Nick nodded, marching Joe to the door. She looked at Juliette and Alicia and smiled a little. “You two…are pretty fierce. Good job.”

“It was really all Juliette,” Alicia said. “She…fought him for me, I couldn’t let her do it alone.”

Juliette smiled. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you again…”

Sloane smiled and patted Juliette’s shoulder. “I’ll be frank, I didn’t think Nick being in a relationship with a keirsheite was the best idea. They tend to get hurt or worse. But…You can hold your own. So I feel a little better about that.”

Juliette smiled a little and nodded. “Thanks…but it was my fault this almost went to hell.” She looked at Alicia. “I shouldn’t have pushed like that. I just…want you to know you’re my friend no matter what. It doesn’t matter to me your wesen. I just want to stay your friend and I want you to be safe and happy…”

Alicia sniffed a little. “Thank you. I…” she glanced at Sloane worried and Sloane held up her hands.

“I’m gonna leave you two to sort things out while Nick and I go book your husband. If you need someone to stare him down in divorce court, let us know.” Alicia smiled a little in thanks while Sloane headed out the door and to the car.

“Are they okay?” Nick asked worriedly. Joe was already in the back, looking sad but also scared.

“I think they’re fine. Your girlfriend is scrappy.”

He smiled. “Don’t I know it…Though she chose a poor moment to out me to Alicia…I thought she was going to bolt when Juliette told her you and I were Grimms…”

“Wouldn’t blame her…” Sloane said, trying not to think on the almost guilty feeling she had in her chest.

“Joe coming in stopped her though. And me. Asshole has a decent right hook, at least when he takes you by surprise,” he rubbed over his cheek.

Sloane paused and then turned to look at the man in the car. She didn’t think he knew she was a Grimm, but whatever expression she held made him flinch seeing and duck his head more. “He better hope he stays in lock up…” She looked back at him. “You didn’t transform?”

“Didn’t have time before he got the drop on me,” he said.

“…Gallin called me the other day. She might have a lead.” _There, I said it._

Nick looked at her in surprise. “Really? That’s great! Why…didn’t you say something sooner?” he finished, getting an idea that something was wrong.

“I don’t know who her contact is, she wouldn’t say. But apparently…they want a video of you transformed. To help diagnose you.”

Nick blinked and then looked down “I…wow, okay…”

“Yeah. I knew it wouldn’t be something you’d like, but…”

He sighed. “Yeah…not sure I want another video of me acting like a homicidal jerk out there. Not to mention forcing it…”

“It’s the only lead we have though…and we don’t know if it’s getting better or worse,” she pointed out.

He nodded, thinking. “…Let’s get our friend here down to the station. Then we can figure out where to go from there.”

Sloane nodded. “Okay.”

\---------------

That afternoon, while they were giving statements for Joe’s arrest at the station after Sloane got to go and get some fresh clothes, she got a strange text. It was from Hank’s number, but the message was, _They took Joy. I have to get her back. –J_

Sloane only took a moment to comprehend before she was grabbing Nick and they were out before Hank and Zuri realized he was gone, though they realized quick when she called him and asked where Joy lived.

They got there and were met by gun shots when they tried the door. Sloane raced around the side, seeing Joy and Jared run out to the back yard. She whistled and Jared skidded before running for her with Joy close behind. Sloane pulled them through the gate just as one of the Savages came out the door. He was pointing a gun at her, and she had no weapon to point back. No time to rush him, she might be able to dodge jumping behind the fence but no guarantee. For a quick moment she thought about what would happen if she died—a funeral, but sparse. Nick would be there, so would Rosalee and Mim and Jean. Would they cry? Of course, but would anyone else? Would anyone actually miss her?

Jared was grabbing on to her and trying to pull then and she panicked, not wanting him to get hit too. And then suddenly a flash of burgundy jumped over the fence with a yowl and tackled the gunman to the ground. Zuri, she recognized the clothes, but her face was woged and she was ripping out the man’s throat. Sloane stared in shock and then down to Jared. “…You’re… Yaguaraté?”

He looked up in surprise, his eyes just slightly golden. _I…saved a Yaguaraté…but he’s just a kid…_

She looked over when Nick and Hank came out to the deck and Zuri looked up, her mouth and front of her shirt covered in blood. She woged back and stared at Nick in shock. “You’re a Grimm…?” Jared was tense and almost moved to get between them, but Sloane held him back.

“Easy. Nothing’s going to happen…Keep hold of your girlfriend.” She nodded to Joy, who was collapsed by the bushes near the fence crying. He swallowed but then nodded and knelt down with her, pulling her close.

“It’s okay, Zuri,” Hank said, trying to keep things calm. Sloane knew he would.

“You know?” Zuri asked, more surprised.

“Yeah, he does,” Nick said, still training his gun on her.

“She didn’t have a choice Nick,” Hank said.

“She saved me for what it’s worth,” Sloane said, making them look at her. “I mean admittedly, I think she was more focused on saving Jared, but…”

Nick faltered before sighing and putting his gun down. “Get her out of here.”

“What are you gonna tell them?” Hank asked.

“We found him like this.” He looked at Sloane.

Sloane shrugged. “Big dog, ran out the gate.”

Hank nodded and took Zuri’s arm, intending to lead her to the car. “What about Jared,” she asked, not wanting to go.

“We got him, he’s okay,” Sloane said. “We’ll look after him and bring him back to you.”

She nodded slowly and followed Hank out. Nick walked over to her and she stepped back so he could see Jared and Joy crouched together, Joy still crying in fear. Jared looked up, a little scared too, and Nick smiled as gently as he could. “We need to talk…”

\-----------------

In the end, Zuri and Jared agreed they needed to move to another apartment complex just to be safe. Jared wasn’t going to break up with Joy and Sloane didn’t even bring it up. It just didn’t feel right to push them one way or another. The fact she’d inadvertently comforted and helped a Yaguarte was…something else to work though. It felt like something she should be ashamed of, similar to being friends with a fuchsbau and letting a blutbad live, but there was a strange disconnect between the idea and shame. It felt a little unreal.

Even more unreal in how real it was, was her visiting Rosalee at the shop.

“So Jared and Zuri are going to be okay? And the girl?” Rosalee asked, pouring another cup of tea for herself.

“Seems like it. All this time I thought Jared was just scared—and he was—but he was also trying to keep himself from woging. He doesn’t want to be violent like his father…”

“We always worry about having our parent’s worst traits I think,” Rosalee agreed.

“Not sure my mother has any good traits and dad’s still a mystery,” Sloane sighed. “What about you?”

“Ah…well, my parents were both pretty good. Though I don’t want my mom’s tendency to judge—which my sister inherited unfortunately—or my dad’s…” She paused and sighed. “My dad sometimes let work take over his life. It felt like he did it more when I went through my rough years and I blew up at him before I left for Seattle. Then…he died. I guess I just wish I’d had more time with him.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane said, honest as she could be when she couldn’t quite empathize with the feelings.

“It’s okay. The past is the past.”

Sloane looked at her tea a moment. “I think the past is all I have sometimes…”

“That’s not true,” Rosalee said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got me. And Nick. And Hank and a bunch of other people here. You got a lot to look forward to.”

Sloane felt her lips lift into a smile and she sighed as she nodded. _Maybe so…_

\--------------------

_The Good Soldier_

\--------------------

It was a couple of days after the gang war incident, and Sloane had a feeling Ron Hurd was killed by a wesen. Granted it used to be she saw wesen in every violent death, and had since learned humans could stab and shoot and beat each other just as much. But something about this just gave her that feeling. He’d been attacked in his own home, stabbed by something large, conical and sharp, and had died almost instantly. Considering the man worked in home security, it didn’t seem like good publicity for his Rent-a-cop business at McCabe Security. He didn’t even get the chance to fire off his gun. The only thing broken in his home was a frame that had apparently contained war medals, the frame in pieces but the medals gone. Hank recognized the kind of case from his father’s own medal case. They only knew exactly what they had held because his friend, Troy Dodge, told them.

“I have no idea,” he said, looking flustered when they asked why someone would kill Hurd. They were outside the house now, Mr. Dodge not wanting to go back inside. “Everyone liked Ron. I’ve worked with him at the company since 2011, before that we were in Iraq.”

“You were in the war?” Hank asked.

“Ron was 10th battalion, I worked for Artemis,” Dodge clarified.

“The military contractors?” He asked in surprise. Dodge nodded.

“We know Hurd had a pretty good security system,” Nick said. “Any security cameras?”

Dodge sighed. “Not part of the employee discount.”

Sloane arched her brow. “Seems like maybe something he could splurge for…”

“Well…one thing I can say about Ron that could go either good or bad is he was frugal…” Dodge said wanly.

“Did you touch the body at all?” Nick asked.

“No,” he shook his head quickly. “Soon as I saw what happened, I called 911.” His phone suddenly went off and he pulled it out to look. “Oh, that’s the company wanting an update…is it okay if I take it?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Nick said, finishing his notes. Dodge walked off and the three detectives walked towards the front of the house. “So we got a security guy killed in his own home, had his gun right next to him, didn't call 911, didn't turn on the alarm.”

“Sounds like he let his killer in the house,” Hank said.

“But what made the hole in his chest?” Nick asked. “We don’t have a murder weapon?”

“And why steal his medals?” Hank wondered. “They’re not necessarily that valuable.”

“Maybe the killer didn’t think he deserved them?” Sloane asked.

“Maybe,” Nick nodded.

“But why would they care?” Hank asked.

“Unless they were military too,” Nick said, glancing back at Dodge on the phone.

“…Should I display my grandfather’s medals?”

Hank looked at her in surprise. “You got them?”

“I saw them in the attic at oma’s. I’d have to go back and get them, but I’m a little hesitant right now…” she admitted.

“You aren’t still upset at Mim and Jean, are you?”

“About being wesen? No,” she said, smiling a little. “Jean and Mim are being a little…pushy about something right now though. Apparently Sherrif Grover has resigned, when it was shown he was taking payouts from Summer Bridge to look the other way on some shady moves.” Nick grinned rather proudly and she smiled back. “They’ve got a new sheriff now who’s promising change and updates to keep up with the growing town—which is still growing, but much more naturally now. And part of this is overhauling the department and he wants some new officers.”

Nick made a sound of understanding. “So they were hoping you would…”

“Move back? Yeah. I think they realize that’s a bit of a downgrade job wise and unlikely, but they were hopeful and now I feel kind of bad…But we’re messaging every week so I think they’re still happier.”

Hank chuckled. “Well, if you ever do get the medals, I can tell you a little if you want. My dad’s a history buff, a little rubbed off on me.”

Sloane smiled. “Thanks, that’d be nice. Also, I don’t trust that guy, he got real tense talking on the phone.” She nodded towards Dodge. Multitasking was definitely a skill of hers.

“Well, his friend and one of the head honchos of his business did just die,” Nick reasoned, but he wasn’t convinced either. “Let’s go do a little more research on our victim.”

Hank nodded and started towards the car, and Sloane put a hand on Nick’s shoulder to make him pause. “Hey…have you thought about what I told you? Gallin’s request?”

Nick’s face was a bit pinched before he sighed. “Yeah…I don’t like it, but…I do want answers. To make sure this doesn’t keep happening.”

Sloane nodded. “I had an idea. If you’re okay with it, we could…restrain you for it. To make sure you don’t hurt anyone.”

Nick nodded slowly. “Okay…how?”

“Gallin has a room at the Library, most do. It’s meant for…interrogations, lets say, but it should have what we need.”

“That’s sounds creepy as hell,” he said dryly.

“It’s the best option I have unless you have a dungeon I don’t know about,” she shot back. “…Or Renard. He seems the type…”

“And on that note, I’m just going to agree before I consider what kind of dungeon my boss has,” Nick said. “Just…let’s work, and we’ll figure out when we can do it afterwards.”

“Okay…but I don’t think we should put it off forever.” Nick didn’t say anything, but they caught up with Hank at the car to head back to the precinct.

Research turned up only slightly more than they knew. They knew he served three tours in Iraq. Honorable discharge, two purple hearts. That his last credit card purchase was at the VFW—Veterans of Foreign Wars, a social location for veterans that included a bar Sloane learned— at 11:03 the night, he died. And the last three calls on his phone were to Jim McCabe, the head man of McCabe security. First two only a few seconds, likely voicemail, and the last one about two minutes long.

“Sounds like he was pretty desperate to talk to this guy,” Sloane noted.

“Well, we should talk to him too. We can hit the VFW on the way,” Nick said, standing.

Sloane’s phone rang as they did and she looked at the ID. “It’s Rosalee…” She looked at the other two. “Wait for me, I’ll be at the car in a bit.”

They nodded and Sloane stepped into one of the side rooms to answer. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry, are you busy with work?”

“We have a case, but you don’t normally call in the middle of the day. What’s wrong?”

Rosalee was quiet a moment before sighing. “I was going to ask if I could borrow some of your courage…”

“For what?” Sloane asked slowly.

“I told you about my mother and sister…About how we haven’t really talked in a while.”

“Seven years I think you said,” Sloane said, recalling the conversation.

“Yeah. Well, I, uh…emailed her. I figured with how things are going and me staying in Portland, I should get back in touch…”

“Oh…How did that go?” she asked, honestly a little worried. She was well aware that they had a tense relationship after Rosalee left to go to Seattle.

“Better than I expected. I’m, uh…meeting them for dinner. Both of them. Tonight,” she finished tensely.

“Whoa…that’s fast,” she said intelligently.

“Yeah,” Rosalee laughed. “Monroe’s going with me for support, but…I’m still feeling sick about it.”

“…I wish I could give you some advice,” Sloane said honestly. “But, well…family stuff isn’t my strong suit. I can tell you how to load a musket, but making up with your family is…foreign territory.”

“Right, sorry,” Rosalee said. “I should’ve realized…”

“No, it’s okay, it’s just how it is,” Sloane said. “But I guess…look, you went through some shit.”

“I kind of made that shit for myself,” Rosalee reminded her.

“You made some mistakes. Things got out of hand. But you also turned your life around really well and I think that’s amazing. It’s not something everyone succeeds at. From how you dread it, this meeting will be awkward I can tell, but you should be proud of that at least. You’re doing really well, you’ve saved a lot of people and wesen and they can’t fault you for that. If they do, they’re jerks, I’m sorry, family or not. But…I’m still gonna be your friend at the end of it. And so will the rest of us. And I guess you’ll have the Blutbad too.”

Rosalee laughed slightly at Sloane’s honesty and the awkward, almost shy way she said she’d have her still at the end. “Thank you, Sloane…that does make me feel better.”

“Good.” She sighed in relief and glanced back to Nick and Hank at the car. “But look, we are on a case, I should go before the boys get impatient. Call me later?”

“Sure. Good luck.”

“You too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

They hanged up and Sloane sighed a bit. She felt oddly jealous of Rosalee. There was no reconciling with her family, she knew that. There wasn’t much of one left to reconcile with. Putting that thought and her phone away, she headed down to where Nick and Hank were waiting.

“Hey, everything okay?” Nick asked.

“Yeah. Rosalee just needed some moral support for something. She’ll probably tell you later.”

“Okay…” They climbed into the car, Sloane in the back, and headed for the VFW. It was an old brick building, crimson from the recent rain and nostalgic for a time none of them had really even lived through with its memorabilia from various wars. As they entered the main hall they could hear jazzy dancing music blaring from the main hall.

“Somebody’s in the mood,” Hank smiled.

“What?” Sloane asked, trying to keep from swaying to the beat.

“It’s the name of the song. Glenn Miller’s In the Mood. Somebody having fun?” They pushed open the door and paused when they saw a dozen couples well into their 60s and over swaying and pulling each other around the dance floor. Sloane couldn’t help but smile a little as she watched. It was charming.

A tall, willowy black woman with softly graying hair walked up to them with bright smiles. “Well! Do we have two handsome gentleman soldiers and a lovely lady in the service to join us?  Well, take off your coats and partner up! I’m sure we can work it out-”

“Ah, no,” Nick said delicately. “We’re not…is there someone who works here?”

The woman was a bit confused but nodded. “Yes, Candy is in the back. But if you change your minds, you’re welcome to join in.”

They nodded, heading for the back through the dancers. Just a they did a tall woman with brown wavy hair was bringing a box of bottles out from the back. She frowned when she saw them and set the box down. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, we have some questions about a patron who was here last night,” Hank said, flashing his badge.

“Okay…”

“His name was Ron Hurd.”

Candy huffed out a breath with a tired smile. “Oh god, what did Ronny do now?”

“He was murdered last night,” Sloane said.

“Excuse me?” she asked, looking honestly shocked.

“According to his credit card statement, his last transaction was here at 11:03 PM,” Nick said, checking his notes.

“I don’t believe this,” Candy said, reeling a little.

“What time did he leave?” Nick prompted. “Was he with anyone?”

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts together. “No…he came in alone, he left alone. After he paid for the drinks. What happened?” she asked, looking between all of them.

“Was he with anyone while he was here?” Hank asked.

“Yeah, the regulars,” she sighed, resolving herself to the questions. “He had dinner at the bar. Bought a round of drinks for the guys.”

“Do you have any names,” Sloane asked.

“I can get them for you,” she nodded.

“Did anything unusual happen last night?” Hank asked.

Candy looked down in thought before nodding slowly. “Actually…there was. There was a young woman who sat with him at the table, but he didn’t seem too happy to see her. That was right before he left.”

“Do you know her name?” Nick asked.

She shook her head. “Never seen her before, but...”

“But what?”

“When I cleaned his table last night, I found what I thought was something pretty weird. It was a cocktail napkin with blood on it,” she said with a grimace.

“What did you do with the napkin?” Hank asked.

And that question led to Nick and Sloane digging through the trash with their gloves on. “Have I told you how glamorous this job makes me feel,” Sloane said quietly. Nick just smiled.

Candy was behind them on the ground with Hank. “Do you remember what the woman looked like?” Nick asked.

“Late 20s, early 30s, dark hair,” Candy said, trying to remember.

“Was she military?” Hank asked.

“I don't know for sure, but she looked like a tough lady,” Candy said shrewdly.

“How long did she stay after he left?” Nick asked.

“Not very long. I'd say she left within five minutes.”

“You don't have any surveillance cameras, do you?” Hank asked.

Candy laughed but looked apologetic. “Who's gonna steal anything with a bunch of soldiers around?”

“Why does no one have security cameras when we could use them,” Sloane muttered.

Nick then pulled a napkin out of the trash, looking it over. “Is this it?”

Candy looked and nodded, noting the odd pattern of five straight vertical lines, followed by what looked like a circle or a D like shape. “Yeah.”

“How do you get yourself to bleed like that?” Hank asked, tilting his head.

“Might be some kind of pattern. I don't know….”

Sloane frowned as well. “No wounds like that on our victim…They must’ve been on the woman. As fresh as they must’ve been to bleed…Self-mutliation?”

Nick nodded, following her train of thought. “That doesn’t answer the why though…Maybe McCabe has an idea.”

Nodding, they thanked Candy for her help and headed back to their car to go to McCabe security.

Jim McCabe was in his thirties, with a shaved head and a decent physique beneath his corporate suit attire from what Sloane could tell sizing him up on instinct. Something about him gave her a bad feeling though, even as he smiled when he let them into his office after his receptionist announced them.

“Mr. McCabe, we're Detectives Burkhardt, Larson and Griffin,” Hank said, moving inside.

“You're here about Ron,” he guessed immediately.

Nick paused and Sloane glanced at him before back to McCabe, agreeing that was fast. “Yes, we are.”

“I'll help you any way I can. As soon as I heard about what happened, I started racking my brain about who could have done this. I'm afraid I haven't come up with much, but I have put together a file for you. Ron's full employment record, clients he dealt with, jobs he worked... it's all in there,” he said, handing Nick the file folder.

Sloane frowned, feeling that that was quick work for one morning. “According to his phone records, he called you last night at 12:10.”

He glanced at her, sizing her up as well if she had to guess, and nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“Mind telling us what that conversation was about?” Hank asked, while Nick was looking over the folder.

“He called about work... a job we're doing in South Portland.”

“It's a little late to be calling about work…”

McCabe just smiled. “As you know, security's a 24-7 job.”

“Before he called you, he was at the VFW having drinks till about 11:00,” Sloane said. “We’ve been told there was a confrontation there with a woman. Did he mention her to you?”

He pulled a face and shook his head. “No. We just talked business.”

“Was he seeing anyone? Do you know who the woman could have been?”

“No. Ron loved the ladies. Unfortunately, they only loved him back about 10% of the time. You definitely would have been his type though. You might be mine,” he said in what he must have thought was a flirtatious tone.

Sloane didn’t look impressed, and neither did Hank or Nick. Sloane just put on her most bored tone when she spoke. “I don’t flirt on the job. Especially when I’m questioning someone about a homicide to the victims friend.”

He had the decency to look rueful. “Ah, right…Sorry.”

Nick smiled, having known she’d handle that fine. Hank smiled as well as he looked around the room again. “Back to that homicide,” Nick said. “Is there anyone you can think of who might want him dead?”

“Personal security's a tough business. We don't always make a lot of friends,” with a sigh.

“That's Troy.” Hank said suddenly. Sloane and Nick looked over to where Hank was pointing to a picture of four soldiers standing together in a sandy, desert like setting. They were all younger than they looked now, but it was them. “Is that Ron?” He pointed to the figure dressed in mostly camo compared to the more mercenary like clothes of the others.

“Yeah. We spent time together in Iraq. Most of my employees have some sort of military training.”

“And who... who's that?” Hank asked, pointing to the one unfamiliar face.

“Bobby Hammond.”

“He work here too?” Nick asked.

“He did. Moved to Phoenix a couple years ago, opened his own shop.”

The detectives looked at one another before Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out the evidence bag with the napkin inside. “Look... Does this mean anything to you?” he asked, holding it out to him.

McCabe looked at the pattern and shook his head slowly in a mix of disgust and surprise. “No…Where'd you get that?”

“It was left on Ron's table at the VFW,” Sloane said.

He shook his head again, regaining his composure. “I don't know.”

Nick sighed and put it back in his pocket. “Well, you mind if I make a copy of that photograph?”

“Go ahead.”

Nick took his phone out and snapped a picture of the photo. They said their goodbyes and headed out back to the car.

“…That guy gives me a bad feeling,” Sloane said.

“Same here,” Hank agreed.

“We’ll check him out back at the precinct,” Nick said.

They didn’t find much more on McCabe, other than he was part of Artemis with Troy Dodge and Robert Hammond at the same time their victim was over in Iraq. Then they found out Robert Hammond was also dead, killed a week ago in Phoenix in another home invasion. Someone was definitely picking off these men in particular Sloane felt, but she didn’t know why or how.

“I think we should ask Renard’s help on this, he might be able to get more information from Phoenix,” Hank said.

“I agree. As weird as this is, it might be one of our strange cases. He’s not in yet though…” Sloane said, glancing at the office.

“I’ll shoot him an email. In the mean time we can keep looking as well,” Nick said.

Sloane sighed but went back to searching and combing through files. Renard returned less than an hour later and nodded at them, which they took to mean he got the message. But it was getting late and they hadn’t had much of a lunch, so they opted to go to an early dinner together.

“So…any idea what this could be?” Hank asked the two Grimms.

“I can’t rule out non-wesen with just a very strange weapon,” Sloane said honestly. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

Nick smiled a little despite himself. “You’ve become a pretty good detective.”

She smiled, sipping her water. “What will you say when I’m better than you?”

“If only you weren’t so cocky still…”

“Hey, I call it as I see it and I think I deserve to have an ego living through everything I have,” Sloane said. “Death is probably coming for me on some hunt, at least let me feel good about myself now.”

Nick and Hank shared a surprised look before looking at her. “That’s…kind of macabre,” Hank said.

Sloane shrugged and took a bit of her sandwich. “I made peace with that a while ago…doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight it off tooth and nail, but I figured I’d probably die in a fight sometime. Hopefully taking whatever or whoever is responsible with me. If not, avenge me,” she said mock seriously. She tried not to think about the thought’s she’d had just recently, wondering if someone would miss her. The moment she thought she might die to a gunshot of all things trying to save a yaguarte teenager. That for a moment, death did scare her, really scare her. She didn’t like being scared. She was feared, not fearful. And she was determined to keep it that way.

Nick and Hank smiled a little, but it was still odd how blasé she was about her own possible death. Nick’s phone went off then and he looked at it. “Renard has some information for us.”

“Let’s get back to the station then.”

They quickly finished their food, tossing the trash away as they headed back for the car. Getting back to the station, Sloane noted that Renard was talking on the phone and he didn’t look pleased. He hanged up as they entered though.

“You wanted to see us?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. I spoke to Captain Wilton at the Phoenix P.D. This is the paperwork he sent over on Robert Hammond and the ongoing investigation into his murder.” He held up a file and Sloane took it to look over.

“We got a cause of death?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, apparently he was stabbed with a poison spike.” All three looked up in surprise at him in unison.

“…Not human,” Sloane finally said. “The killer I mean.”

“Not likely, no. Good thing you three are on the case.”

 “They I.D. the poison?” Hank asked.

“Inconclusive,” Renard sighed.

Hank frowned, taking the file from Sloane when she offered it. “We're still waiting on Harper to get the tox screen back on our Vic, but the spike in the chest is the same.”

Nick sighed, also looking part of the file over, then he pulled out a print of the photo from McCabe’s office and showed it to Renard. “So two of these four men are dead, killed in the same way within a week of each other.”

“And the other two are here in Portland. They both work for McCabe security.”

“That one's McCabe,” Nick said, tapping the man on the far left.

“Could one of them be killing the others?” Renard asked.

“Well, there could be some bad blood between them,” Nick said.

“One army guy with three military contractors... we know why?”

“They were all friends,” Hank said, shrugging a bit.

“Check with his C.O. See what he knows about the relationship between them,” Renard suggested. He then looked at Sloane, who was looking over the file still. “Something stand out to you, Sloane?”

She looked up then back down. “…I think they’re hiding something.”

“Likely, given someone is killing them.”

“No, I mean…I think these four are specifically hiding something. Not something to do with the business, something personal. Something bad they all had a hand in.”

“Why not something with the business?” Hank asked.

“They didn’t all start together and if it was, it would’ve been over here in the states. That doesn’t strike me as likely because McCabe started the company just after they left Iraq and pulled these three in specifically. McCabe gives me the worst feeling, deep in my gut, and I think he kept these guys close as long as he could because they know something.”

“Blackmail for a job?” he asked.

“Not like that…more like…McCabe tying up loose strings close to home. Whatever he has on them, I think it incriminates himself too, and vice versa. He didn’t seem happy Hammond left, even if he tried to seem like it. He’s paranoid about something but trying to seem in control. I took advantage of paranoia like that often enough to hone in on it,” she finished.

Renard nodded slowly. “If it happened in Iraq, well…No disrespect to those that serve, but they are capable of things any human being is.”

“And that can be bad,” Hank agreed.

“It’s getting late though. We should probably try to find that C.O. in the morning, most places are gonna be closed,” Nick said.

“Then start fresh tomorrow,” Renard agreed.

They nodded and split off, heading for home to rest up. Sloane looked at her phone when she got home and noted Rosalee hadn’t called. She shot her a quick text.

**Sloane:** _Everything okay?_

When she got out of the shower, there was a text waiting.

**Rosalee:** _It was tense for a while, and I ended up telling them a lot more than I wanted. But I think it was good. I think we’re on our way to understanding each other again._

Sloane smiled, honestly happy for her. **Sloane:** _I’m glad. We got a weird case again though._

**Rosalee:** _Do you need help?_

**Sloane:** _Maybe, but for now I think you’ve had enough to deal with. We’ll let you know if we need some extra help._

**Rosalee:** _Thanks. I’ll tell you all about how my evening went down later. Goodnight._

**Sloane:** _Goodnight._

Sloane sighed and went to lay down. She paused before going to sleep and grabbed her phone again, calling Gallin’s number.

“Sloane?” she yawned.

“Hey. Did I wake you up?”

“Yes…but what’s wrong? Did you need a weapon?”

“No, no. I managed to talk Nick into the video…But I wanted to ask if we could use the back room of the library.”

“The back room? Really?” she asked, sounding worried. “For what? Or who?”

“For Nick. I said I’d restrain him while we do this, so he didn’t have to worry about hurting someone…”

“Oh…That’s…not it’s intended use…” she said hesitantly.

“I’m well aware,” Sloane said. “But I think it’s necessary. I’ve been on the wrong side of Nick’s transformations, they are not fun.”

Gallin sighed, sounding worried. “…Let me clean it out, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Clean it out?”

“I try not to go in there often, it’s a bit…gross,” she said, shuddering.

“…Alright. Just let me know when it’s ready.”

“Right…Um, so…how are you doing?”

“Uh, fine. Just heading to bed.”

“Right, right,” she said, sounding a bit flustered again. “I should let you do that. Rest up. I’ll call you later.”

“Right…goodnight?”

“Goodnight.”

Sloane hanged up and sighed, setting the phone back down on her bedside table and laying down to try and sleep. It was a little easier now, though sometimes she still had trouble sleeping. She didn’t like to examine why exactly for long.

In the morning they got back to work trying to find the Commanding Officer in charge of the 10th battalion when Hurd was there. It was Hank who came out from one of the side rooms with a smile on his face around mid-morning. “I got the video chat set up with Ron Hurd's old C.O., Colonel Adam Desai.”

“When?” Nick asked, surprised by the speed.

“Now. He's in D.C. at Walter Reed hospital... terminal cancer.” Nick and Sloane both frowned in sympathy—Marie coming to mind for both—and stood to go group up with him. Hank brought up the chat function quickly. Desai was a man in what she guessed was his sixties, with slightly receding white hair and fair, almost sickly pale skin, but still with the sharp eyes and air of a soldier as he looked at them. “Colonel, thank you so much for taking the time. These are my partners, Detective Burkhardt and Detective Larson.”

“Wish I could be there in person, but the lungs won't allow it,” he said in that matter-of-fact tone brass in the military often used.

“We understand,” Hank said.

“Really sorry to hear about Ron…” he sighed.

“We were hoping you could help us connect the dots between him and a few military contractors,” Nick said. “Did you get the photo we sent you?”

“I did. Jim McCabe, Troy Dodge, Robert Hammond,” he sighed, sounding resigned.

“So you knew them?” Hank asked.

“Yes, Artemis security. Our platoon was stationed outside Balad... minesweeping, peacekeeping... but half the time we spent trying to undo the damage those cowboys did,” he said bitterly.

“Damage?” Hank frowned.

“Harassing the locals, theft, extortion... dogs without a leash,” Desai spat.

“Why didn’t you arrest them or kick them out?” Sloane asked. _Or put them down…_

“You don't understand the arrangement the military had with the private contractors,” he huffed.

“What kind of arrangement was that?” Nick asked.

“A good one for them. Their deal with the government exempted them from any prosecution. They were untouchable right up until the winter of 2010, when Artemis finally got kicked out of Iraq.”

“You said they were exempt from prosecution. Were they ever brought up on charges for anything?”

Desai took a deep breath, glancing at Sloane a moment before and working his jaw. “A specialist under my command came to me, said that Ron and these Artemis guys had raped her.” Sloane’s blood went cold a moment and she gripped the sleeve of her shirt. “I reported the incident to my superior but was told to look the other way.”

“But Ron was under your command,” Hank said, also troubled.

“He was transferred before I could do anything except file a restricted complaint. Went nowhere.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sloane growled.

“I said some similar things when I found out,” he sighed. “I served to protect others, not to let men like these use our station to do…that, and get away with it…”

Nick chewed the inside of his cheek as he took that in. “What was the name of the specialist?”

“Frankie Gonzales.”

“Do you know where she is?” Hank asked as Nick wrote that down quickly.

“As far as I know, she's in South Carolina.”

“Do you remember the date this attack on Gonzales happened?” Nick asked.

“Never forget it. November 11, 2010.”

Sloane and Hank both paused and Sloane pulled the evidence bag with the napkin out from some of the papers on his desk. “111110…” Sloane said somberly.

“It's a date,” Hank said.

“I hate to say this,” Desai sighed, “But whatever those guys are getting, they deserve.”

“I agree,” Slaone said darkly. Nick looked at her, a little surprised by how much venom was in her voice.

Desai looked up beyond his computer camera and nodded as if seeing someone there. “Nurses are waving at me. It's time for my chemo. Good luck on your investigation.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Hank said. The feed cut and Sloane took a deep breath, trying to center herself.

“You okay…?” Nick asked.

“Not really…right now, I’m asking myself if I really want to catch this murderer…” she said honestly.

“I get that…” Nick said. “But it’s our job.”

“And their job should’ve been to protect people,” she muttered. “Considering what they did instead, I think a poison spike to the gut is justified.”

“…Again, I don’t disagree. But look, right now, we need to keep doing our job, the best we can. Everything will come out somehow or another, they aren’t going to just sweep it away again.”

“Yeah…If I find out the names of whoever covered this up though…” Nick wisely didn’t say anything as she sat back down to look for the necessary files.

They found specialist Francesca "Frankie" Gonzales was discharged in 2012. After her discharge, there was a page-long list of misdemeanors. Drugs, alcohol, in and out of rehab, and overall not a pretty picture.  Sloane looked at the mugshot on file with sympathy. Her army photo was the picture of pride and respect, and then she became a hard-eyed, messy woman who looked as though she hadn’t slept in days but was still ready to fight. When they found out she was picked up for drunk and disorderly conduct a little over a month ago in Phoenix, the same place Bobby Hammond was killed, they all agreed that was too much of a coincidence.

They were just about to go check into whether she’d arrived in Portland in the last few days when Wu informed them they had a double murder. The victims were Troy Dodge and his wife Betsy, and they quickly headed to the scene.

“Same type of stab wound,” Hank said. “You think Frankie's doing this?”

“If she is, I sure wish I knew what she was using,” Nick said. He looked at Sloane and she sighed and shook her head.

“I wish I could tell you, but I’m not certain myself. Poison occurs in _a lot_ of wesen species, with lots of ways to administer it, they all have different weaknesses, and I have no idea what makes a wound like that.”

Nick sighed and looked around the house, just as Hanks phone rang. “Griffin.” Sloane followed Nick into the living room and paused when she saw him put on a glove and kneel by the fireplace. “Found something?”

“Yeah…It’s a torn up letter of some kind, but despite being in the fireplace it isn’t burned. I think-”

“Guys, Wu’s on the phone,” Hank said quickly. “He just got the tox report on the first victim. It's a match to what they found in Phoenix.” Nick stood up and nodded and Sloane came in closer too as Hank pressed the speaker button. “Let's have it.”

Wu’s voice came over loud and clear. “Both victims died from an excessive dose of neurotoxins and enzyme inhibitors associated with the family Buthidae.”

“Okay…what does that mean in English?” Sloane asked.

“The closest match is scorpion venom.” The three detectives looked at one another and Sloane shook her head, still uncertain. “Obviously, we're not talking a real scorpion 'cause it would have to be 6 feet tall. That's all I got.”

“Thanks,” Hank said. He hanged up and Nick held up a piece of paper he took from the fireplace.

“This look familiar to you?”

Hank looked at it and so did Sloane. “November 11th... the day Frankie was attacked,” Hank said. “We better find out what the hell we're dealing with.”

“Neurotoxins, enzyme inhibitors... I'm gonna call Juliette,” Nick said, pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, dealing with a 6-foot-tall scorpion, we're gonna need all the help we can get. Uh, could that be what we’re dealing with?” he asked Sloane.

“…I admit I don’t know,” she sighed. “But I would not be surprised.”

It took them a little while to finish up at the crime scene, and by the time they got to the trailer Juliette had already gone through the quick reference system they were putting together on a tiny travel laptop to find some ideas. Sloane could admit she was stealing the idea for her home library, it made searches much easier. Nick was letting them look through the books though while he put together the bits of paper he’d found in the fireplace.

“Okay, the first candidate is from 13th-century France. It's called a Trasque... a small, solitary creature who loves the singing of maidens,” Juliette said, showing the book.

“Who doesn't?” Hank chuckled, but shook his head looking at it. “Probably not what we're looking for.”

“Yeah,” Sloane agreed. “Their tail ends in a scorpion-like stinger, but it’s usually small. I remember a Grimm I met had one he preserved. It was like a lizard tail with a bulbous end about the size of a golf-ball and a small spike on the end. We’re looking for like…grape-fruit size.”

“Yeesh,” Juliette said. “Okay, then going a little bit further back to 1100 A.D., we have a Shnabeltiermorder,” she said, pronouncing it slowly.

“That’s a platypus,” Sloane said, looking at the drawing quizzically. The others looked at one another before shaking their heads. “Nah,” They said in unision.

“Okay, what about that?” Juliette said, pulling up another book.

“A Manticore?” Hank read. “It's the right size.”

Juliette pulled the book back over and read the passage. “‘I first witnessed what I was later to discover was a Manticore while my command lay siege at the fortress of Hormuz. Pliny the elder described this wesen in his famous Naturalis Historia circa 77 A.D., tracing its origin to ancient Persia. The beast described had a most unusual body, reflected by a physical duality. Part lowen, it also had a scorpion-like tail which could protrude from its spine, having a spike-like nail at the end capable of injecting a great deal of poison. When I attempted to make a move on this wesen, I discovered there were several more in the ranks. I quickly put away my blade to conceal my identity as a Grimm.’”

“Lowan and scorpion? I didn’t think that was even possible…” Sloane murmured.

“‘I was to learn they were some of the most lethal soldiers in our command, for they have no fear of death.’" Juliette finished.

Hank blew out a breath. “I don't like that "no fear of death" thing. It's not healthy.” He glanced at Sloane who just arched her brow in return. Then he looked over at Nick with a frown and Sloane turned to see Nick looking a bit upset. “Nick, what do you got?”

“A confession... to the gang rape of Frankie Gonzales.” Sloane turned around even more, looking at the torn paper in surprise. “Looks like Troy finished writing it just before he was killed.”

“The colonel was right. This is about her,” Hank said. “She's our Manticore.”

“I doubt that,” Sloane said immediately.

Nick looked at her in confusion. “The men who raped her are turning up dead.”

“Yeah. But think for a second. Imagine you two are women, as hard as that might be for all of us,” she said sardonically. “Four men gang up to assault you. Most women not trained in combat, probably unable to defend themselves even if they try, and some are too scared to try. Given it’s the army, both she and the men were trained, so it’s still not looking good. But if you had the ability to turn into a creature with claws, fangs and a giant freakin tail with a spike that injects poison? Who knows no fear of death?”

Both men looked at one another, realizing she had a point, and Juliette was nodding. “I was thinking the same. Unless they could keep her from transforming or one of them was something worse that could overpower her, if she was a manticore I think she’d have scared them off…or they’d already be dead.”

Hank nodded but then shook his head. “Someone someone killed Ron, Troy, and Bobby.”

“She’s the only one we know with a motive,” Nick agreed.

“And there's only one cowboy left,” Hank said.

“I think we need to find Jim McCabe. And whether Frankie Gonzales is the manticore or not, she might know what’s going on, so we need to find her too.”

Sloane obviously didn’t agree Frankie was their murderer, but nodded. “If we find him, we might find her. Then we can figure this out.”

That led to tracking down Jim McCabe. And sure enough, when they found him, he was trying to leave McCabe security, but was stopped by Frankie Gonzalez screaming at him to get out of his car.

“Back away, Frankie,” Nick said, raising his gun as they climbed out of the squad cars. “Don't fight this. Okay? If you do, you're gonna get hurt, but we don't want that.”

Sloane paused and looked at him. “We need to work on your phrasing in a situation like this,” she muttered, shaking her head in disapproval. Nick looked at her in confusion, but rather than draw her gun or blade Sloane just walked forward. Frankie was looking around in a half-panicked state and Sloane just held up her hands. “Frankie. I’m detective Sloane Larson. We want to talk with you down at the station.”

“Looks like you want to do a bit more than that,” Frankie said.

“Yeah. It’s a tense situation. You were being aggressive when we came up.” Frankie glanced at McCabe, who smirked and blew a kiss at her. Sloane felt her blood boil and imagined grabbing his bald head and crushing it like an egg. But she took a deep breath, knowing it must be worse for Frankie. “We are aware of the situation,” Sloane said, saying her words deliberately slow and pronounced. “But we need to ask you questions. And because of what we saw, we need to handcuff you.” She took her cuffs out. “Turn around with your hands on your head and come quietly, please. We’ll talk more at the station.”

Frankie looked close to crying but turned, her hands on the back of her head. Sloane cuffed her and brought her over to the squad car, helping her in.

“You were oddly gentle there,” Nick said.

“I told you, I don’t think she’s the one,” Sloane said, sighing.

“Who else could it be?” Hank asked.

“Maybe she knows,” she said, losing a bit of patience with them. “If I’m the one saying “just ask”, you guys need to chill.”

They looked at one another, unsure, but headed to the car. They returned to the station, putting Frankie in one of the interrogation rooms. The next half hour was putting all the information down in front of her.

“We know you did it. It’s over,” Nick said.

Frankie shook her head, spreading her hands in the need to be understood. Sloane insisted on no cuffs, but otherwise she was mostly quiet, watching Frankie. “I didn't kill anyone!”

“Frankie, we know you did. First Bobby Hammond in Phoenix,” Nick said.

“Then Ron Hurd... you caught him at the VFW,” Hank said.

“I didn't even know they were dead!”

“You followed him home,” Nick said.

“To talk!”

“But when you didn't like what he said, you killed him,” Hank prompted.

“No, I did not,” she said definitively.

“And what about Troy Dodge and his wife? You didn't kill them either?” Nick asked.

“No!”

“So what, you tracked down the four men who raped you just to say hi?” Hank asked bitingly. Sloane knew it was an act for a most part to be the hard cop, but she wasn’t happy about it.

Frankie stared at him, her pain and anger palpable. “I spent the last four years of my life trying to get past that night... Going over every minute of what happened to me.” Hank looked down then, unable to keep up the tough act and stare her down. “They got away with it. I'm the only one who's paid for this. I didn't deserve what they did to me. I was a good soldier. All I wanted was for them to confess, to admit what they did to me, and they wouldn't.”

Sloane was about to say something but Nick spoke up first. “We know what you are.”

“Nick-”

“What?” Frankie asked in confusion.

“I'm a Grimm, and you're a Manticore, and that's how you killed them.”

Frankie looked shocked before her face hardened. “That's what you think?”

“That's what we know,” Hank said.

“That’s what they think,” Sloane said. “I’m a Grimm too. I don’t think you’re a manticore.”

Frankie looked at her and huffed a laugh. “You two should listen to your partner here more.” She then woged, blue-gray feathers sprouting from her skin and along the top of her head, a black curved beak from her face, and her eyes turning a bright golden yellow.

Nick gaped in surprise and though mildly surprised, Sloane just nodded. Hank looked at them. “What?”

“She's not a Manticore,” Nick said, his brain catching up.

“What is she?”

“Steinadler,” Sloane said.

Frankie woged back and looked at them, also catching up to what they were saying. “It was a Manticore that killed them?”

“Who else knows that you're here?” Nick asked quickly.

She shook her head. “Nobody.”

“Frankie, somebody else knows you're here,” Sloane said gently. “I’m not sorry these guys are gone after what they did to you, but we do need to know who is killing them because we need to make sure it doesn’t go further. Dodge’s wife was already caught up in this and killed, she didn’t do anything to you. So who did you tell?”

Frankie looked at her before taking a breath and thinking. “The only one is my old C.O., but he's in the hospital.” Hank looked at them, knowing immediately who she was talking about. “I went to him looking for help to find these guys. He said I was wasting my time. I didn't care. I had to do something, or I was gonna kill myself,” she choked a little. “But I did not kill them.”

“Colonel Desai?” Hank asked more gently.

She nodded. “He's the only one that gave a damn.”

“Do you have his number?” Nick asked.

“Yeah…but seriously, he’s in the hospital, he can’t have...”

“We need to be sure. Hank, stay with her. Sloane, let’s go get her phone.”

Sloane blinked, wondering why he needed her help to do that, but stood and followed. Outside, Nick paused and looked at her. “You…were right. About her not being the manticore.”

Sloane looked at him and then shrugged. “Like I said…if she were, I’m pretty sure those guys would’ve been dead already.”

“Yeah. We…I should’ve listened. But…don’t take this the wrong way, you handle Frankie really well. Better than you do with other cases, though you’ve been really improving there too. But it’s…like you understand…”

Sloane looked back up, arching her eyebrow. “You’re wondering if I’ve had to deal with sexual assault?”

“Sorry, that…that was a bad thing to ask,” he said, rubbing over his neck. “I just got worried and thinking I must’ve really pissed you off-”

“I have.” Nick froze and then looked at her, stricken. Sloane smiled to try and ease the tension there. “Nick, before I came here, I went hunting in some of the seediest places on earth. I’ve been verbally abused, I’ve been groped and grabbed…I’ve had men try to push me down or against walls…since I was a teen. Someone tried to spike my drink once, but luckily I realized and ran to vomit it up. It’s scary…I’ve been more scared to be alone with men than I have fighting wesen. But I knew from how they acted they do this to other girls. I’ve seen it happen to other girls. Couple of guys too. Had to talk to victims. So I fought every time, and I tried to do something for them too. I’ve never been raped…” She paused but shook her head, trying to clear it from a few images that tried to come through. “But I’ve had close calls and they…they affected me more than I wanted to acknowledge. You get paranoid being alone in strange places, with your food, waking up with phantom hands on me…So yeah, I understood at least some of what Frankie felt, but I could also tell she was a fighter. If someone can defend themselves and shake their attacker, they’re going to, just like with most other battles.”

“…I’m sorry…For not listening…” Nick said quietly.

“As long as you don’t try it with me or someone else, you’re safe,” Sloane said with a smile.

“No, never,” Nick vowed. “I…knew it was a problem, just…wow.”

“Yeah…” She breathed deeply. “I know we have to catch this guy, but you can understand why I’m not exactly sorry for these men.”

“Yeah…Let’s go.” He went down the hall and requested Fankie’s phone back. They set it up so they could trace the call and walked Frankie through what she had to do, basically keep him on the line long enough for the trace to work. It was a little sad to watch Frankie realize, from the Colonels on words, he had murdered those men. But they managed to figure out he was at the VFW.

When they got there, Sloane could hear the crashes and bangs of a fight inside. They rushed in, Nick and Hank with his guns drawn, but just as they did with orders for them to stop and backway, McCabe stabbed an unresisting Desai in the abdomen. He gasped and then shuddered when the knife was pulled out, stumbling back and falling with a groan.

“On the ground! Hands where I can see them!” Hank yelled, moving for McCabe.

He dropped the knife complied with an angry look at them. “It was self defense,” he snapped as Hank got his hands cuffed.

“Yeah? Not what we saw.”

Sloane and Nick meanwhile were kneeling by Desai. Nick was trying to put pressure on the wound while Sloane kept Desai still. “Get an ambulance here!” she yelled.

“It’s okay,” Desai breathed. “It’s fine…You can’t arrest him for what he did to Frankie…but you can for what he did to me…”

Sloane stared down at him before nodding slowly. “We will.”

“Oh please!” McCabe said. “I’ll get the best lawyers, and the army will just cover this up again!”

Sloane glanced up and then leaned down to the still breathing McCabe. “You’re a manticore…what is he if he gave you this much of a fight?”

McCabe glanced up at her. “…Same as me…killed Dodge…”

She shook her head. “No…he may be a manticore, but he’s nothing like you.” Nick looked up, surprised at the comfort she was trying to give. Sloane looked honestly sad.

“Just…did what I had to…” He closed his eyes, his breaths slowing.

Sloane took a breath and stood. Nick glanced up at her worriedly but she walked over and looked McCabe dead in the eyes. “You are going to confess to the rape of Frankie Gonzales, and the murder of Colonel Adam Desai and Troy and Betsy Dodge, in writing, and you will plead guilty.”

McCabe stared her down. “And why would I do that?”

Sloane narrowed her eyes before grabbing his face and making her eyes go black willingly. Hank actually froze because he could _see_ it, those black, void-like eyes; like two mirrors of obsidian glass staring at McCabe. Her voice was so low and serious it made the hairs on the back of Nick and Hanks necks stand on end. “You may not be afraid of death, but you’re afraid of consequences. I know that because you _hid_ what you did. You are afraid of shame and _pain_. I can do more than kill you. If you are ever on the street again, I will find you and you will disappear. But you won’t die. Every day of your life will be agony like you’ve never known and you will beg for death by the end, but I won’t give it to you. I will take your fingers, your toes, your lips and eyes and every other bit of you and keep you alive until I’m satisfied. And all the while, I’ll have killed your reputation. The whole world will know you’re a rapist, a murderer. And they won’t care that you’re gone. I’ll be able to do anything I want to you.” She let go of his face and gently patted it with a sweet smile as her eyes changed back. “Jail is the safest place for you, _honey_.”

McCabe shifted a moment but then stopped himself, eyes caught by Sloane. She was serious, he knew. Sloane straightened and was back to her perfectly calm persona as Hank took a now slack McCabe away.

“That…was terrifying,” Nick said.

Sloane looked down and smiled. “Thanks. It’s similar to a threat my mentor made to someone she wanted information from, I just tried to emulate her. Kind of scared me too...” Looking down at Desai, now still and not breathing, her look softened. “…He was a good man…”

Nick nodded, knowing how she felt.

\------------------

Between Dodge’s letter and a confession by McCabe, it was shaping up to be a quick trial. When Hank said they might want Franky to testify, she agreed readily. They discovered that Desai had left the hospital four weeks ago, the doctors only giving him three months to live. Hunting down the men that violated Frankie was his way of making amends for not protecting her. His last regret.

Sloane drove Frankie back to her motel. She’d insisted, wanting to be sure she was safe and figuring she’d be more welcome than the boys, and Frankie appreciated it. “The trial might go pretty quick. What are you going to do afterwards?”

“I don’t know,” Frankie sighed. “I never thought I’d have an after…”

“…You could probably sue the army?”

Frankie looked thoughtful but not enthused. “I don’t know…I want…to actually live. I know that’s what Desai wants…or wanted, but I don’t have any family left and I cut ties back in North Carolina…Money will help but I don’t know how much.”

Sloane sighed but then got an idea. Pulling out her notepad, she scribbled something down. “I still vote sue the bastards—money is the least you deserve—but as far as just getting your life back…I know a job opening you might do well in.” She handed her the paper. “This is the email for my…well, I guess you could say she’s one of my godmothers. According to her, they’ve got a new Sherriff who’s overhauling the local law enforcement and needs new recruits. He’s paying for schooling in the police academy and helping them get settled in town. It’s a small town, but not too small and might still be growing. She’d help you too.”

Frankie looked shocked but took the paper. “…Is she a Grimm?”

Sloane huffed a laugh. “No, uh…she’s a Jaegerbar. And the other is a Lowen.” Frankie looked up in shock. “Yeah. I’ve, uh…I always thought I was a traditional Grimm before coming here, but seems maybe not. It’s made becoming whatever I am now easier. I mean, my best friend is a Fuchsbau, her boyfriend who I tolerate is a Blutbad, my handy man friend is a Eisbieber, and my boss is…well, he’s complicated. And I’m really starting to like this life,” she said honestly. “If I can change my life this much, I think you can.”

Frankie nodded but still hesitated. “I…my record…”

“Mim and Jean—who are uh, _together,_ and have some interesting pasts of their own—aren’t going to care about that. From what she’s now told me about growing up, Jean would understand a lot of what you went through...And they love tough cases,” she said, gesturing at herself with a smile.

Frankie looked at the note put it in her pocket. “I’ll…think about it. Depending on how long the trial is.”

Sloane nodded, accepting that answer. “Okay.”

She looked at her and smiled. “Thanks. For everything.”

Sloane smiled back and shook her hand. “Glad I can help.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone had a happy holiday season! Original case next week, with a new kind of hunter coming to Portland that poses a problem for everyone, but especially Monroe and his friends.


End file.
